Polarity and Attraction
by Work or Sleep
Summary: Trigger events fracture something, and how those metaphysical cracks are filled defines the parahuman, both in power and personality. There isn't necessarily even a balance. A different power, a different scale, a different Taylor. A different story. Triggering gave something else; made someone else. The world changed.
1. Ch 1: Reality

Disclaimer: Worm is owned by wildbow, and any powers and/or effects added may be the result of a variety of comic/manga influences. I own none of them.

A/N I've altered some details in the setting. In the future, things like canon character ages may be shifted up/down. If something departs dramatically from canon, then it may or may not be intentional. I hope you enjoy the story. ~Work

**Prologue**

The average person doesn't know what it means to trigger; to be pushed past the limits of your mind; to walk the lines of sanity. How can you explain the incomprehensible? The mind reaches a point where it seemingly fails. It can't keep up with what's happening, the stress builds, the circumstances escalate, the mental walls are closing in, collapsing, and there's nothing you can do and you're panicking and you're blacking out, blanking out, and then just at that peak moment, something is forged.

But that completely and utterly fails to describe someone else's experience… For him/her/them the mind implodes and explodes at the same time. Their perception builds, adding to the stress, builds, adding to the burdens, builds, and then in a glorious symphony of sensations you can defy gravity. Or build a robot.

Amongst first generation parahumans, those that suffer the comparatively higher trigger threshold, few consciously consider what goes into a trigger event, what they gave up in return for their powers. They usually don't want to talk about it, to be reminded of the time when everything changed. Something was lost, and all the introspection in the world barely hints at what. It's as if it never existed in the first place. It isn't a fair exchange, because life isn't fair. Most parahumans don't want to realize they're fractured, damaged. That, in some ways, they're less than human.

Some glory in it. They've ascended in their minds. Some become egoists. Hubris causes them to believe themselves far, far superior to mundane humans beings. They've lost their rational perspectives to ground themselves in reality. Some hate it. Frustration at an inability to connect to others, to anyone; were they always like this? Some trip and tumble head first into insanity; and some walk across it willingly. Some are sociopaths and psychopaths. Some are good Samaritans. Some decide to become heroes and, of course, some play the villain. Give power to a hundred random people and you will all sorts, a mosaic of characters on a gritty stage. Trigger events change a person. Powers completely and utterly destroy the status quo of your life. And some, like me, just don't care.

In one hundred realities of the same person triggering because of the same circumstances, your odds are pretty great for one hundred different powers. It depends on what your feeling and what minor grasp of reality your fragmented mind latches onto. Perhaps you're drowning, and suddenly you can breathe no matter what you're in or where you are. But it isn't always so clear-cut. Maybe you become water at will, thus unable to drown. Maybe you're looking up out of the water, at the sweet air that's unbearably out of reach, and now you're bursting out of the water flying. Maybe you explode in fire or heat and all the water around you just evaporates. It can only get stranger.

I thought I was going to stay trapped with everyone knowing and no one helping: my faith in my fellow-man broke. Then I thought I was going to die and my concern for others shattered.

* * *

**Reality**

Sunday December 1, 2010

10:00 pm

The week of school after Thanksgiving starts tomorrow. I'm already desperate for Christmas break.

The past few months of sophomore year at Winslow High have included what has probably been the worst bullying marathon I've ever heard of and experienced. I couldn't tell you what was worse: knowing Madison, Sophia, and Emma were relentless for no clear reason, or that I knew it was only going to escalate until I escaped for the winter.

Months of the small things are getting to me. Knocking my things down in the hallway or off my desk. Kicking anything and everything I don't grab quick enough. I've grown to be more and more unattached to my stuff. I used to complain loudly, then quieter, then not at all. Just like the tears became stings-not-quite-crying became drawn shoulders and downcast looks.

Shoving and shoulder checking me between classes. Every. Single. Class.

I could almost admire their resolve to making my life hell.

The proverb 'sticks and stones' couldn't account for the piercing effects of nine years worth of told-in-confidence secrets now ammunition against me. Emma was my best friend since we were both five. Best friend… that label doesn't do our relationship justice. I still don't know what changed. Both fourteen coming into high school, and suddenly I didn't even rate as an acquaintance. Stranger then preferred victim.

The bullying has gone on for one school year already, now almost one and a half, and I'd forgotten what it was like to tell a teacher that something was going on, that I was being bullied, targeted. The disappointment would've hurt if I wasn't honestly expecting something to change. Just another piece of my faith in… well at this point I would settle for just simple karma. I know justice isn't coming anytime soon.

Proof. Get proof and we'll talk. If you had any proof maybe we could do something.

I feel like I'm talking to the same pre-recorded message. It doesn't matter if I'm talking to Mr. Gladly, the social-sciences teacher, or Mrs. Blackwell, the principal, or any of the staff. The same answering machine answer with the same dismissive tone. They rarely bothered to look at me after my first semester of complaints.

"_If you can prove that they're bullying you, I/we can discuss the appropriate reaction and punishments. Otherwise, I/we have to remain impartial. I/We can't take your word over theirs. I'm/we're Sorry."_

Maybe I could believe them if Sophia didn't pour trash on my desk during math while Mr. Quinlan watched, looking away when I met his eyes. If Mrs. Knott, who was there before anyone every morning for homeroom, actually stopped Madison from pranking my chair with something every day. If Emma could, just once, be taken aside by any of the teachers as she practically yelled about my faults, lack of friends, and anything else offensive that came to mind.

They preached zero tolerance and proof, but it really was too inconvenient to apply that to me. After all, Emma Barnes was the daughter or Alan Barnes. You know, the lawyer who worked with New Wave; the complete accountability superhero group with no secret identities and who all held real jobs or went to school. Sophia Hess is the consummate student athlete. She's the track star gunning for a state championship while holding an honors GPA. Madison Clements is that sugary sweet darling, an overly polite and respectful attitude toward teachers to whom she can do no wrong.

They were my evil-Triumvirate, except instead of the three most famous, and arguably powerful, superheroes of the Protectorate, they were the most socially popular and untouchable bullies in my life.

I'll endure. I have to.

What other choice do I have?

* * *

Friday December 6, 2010

6:30 am

I woke up unusually upbeat. It really hasn't been too bad this week. I don't mean that as in they're just tormenting me less, but rather it looks like they're actually going to leave me alone. The pranks, taunts, and physical intimidation have all scaled back. It's a pleasant surprise all things considered. Maybe they just got bored. I've pretty much stopped fighting back, and bullies are supposed to stop when you ignore them right?

I spend a few extra minutes lying in bed staring at the ceiling. Fleeting hope bounces back and forth between my head and my heart. Could it be all over? As the listlessness that pervades my thoughts every morning remains absent, I stand on the cusp of hoping for the first time in months. They ignored me every other day this week, and with that barely heartening sentiment, I muster the energy to be almost happy.

I begin my daily ablutions with a quick shower, and then get dressed in plain jeans and a grey shirt. I put on my last 'favorite' sweater, the only one left without bad memories. Today is going to be a good day.

Heading downstairs, I pop outside to pick-up the mail, flipping through the junk addressed to both my dad and the occasional one to the previous owners from over twenty years ago. I'll never understand how these mailing lists are updated. I notice a number of unpaid bills from last month, and put them aside to make sure my dad sees them. As a leader in the Dockworkers Association Union, Danny Hebert works hard to keep the blue collars employed despite the collapse of Brockton Bay's shipping industry several years ago. This city's become more of a tourist hotspot as it became cheaper and cheaper to send cargo hubs further North, like Boston and New York City. We have capes of all kinds here in Brockton, and we're just small enough that tourists usually get to meet one or see some light action.

Dad's been trying to develop a project to stave off the rising unemployment amongst manual laborers. He stresses because without a supply of real jobs, some workers have begun to join the various gangs across the city. These are people who I used to see on a semi-regular basis when my dad would take me to work. Hardworking, down-to-earth, genuine people in tough times. I know my dad takes on more than his share of their burdens when he dukes it out at city hall. The small pile of bills from both this and last month isn't the most promising sign, but he hasn't said anything to me yet.

"Well you're up early!" he calls as he walks down the stairs.

"Yep, I though I'd make French toast this morning. It's been a while" I reply as I dip the first slices of bread and place them on the pan. The breakfast confections sizzle deliciously and I crack a smile.

"Looking forward to the day?" My dad probes with a subtle hint of relief. We don't keep secrets in my family, even before my mom died. Dad knows I've been having trouble at school, and after his first complaint in freshman year lead to me losing my first backpack to the school dumpster, I insisted I could handle it myself. I didn't have the heart to tell him things had gotten worse. But that was all hopefully in the past now.

"Yeah, I really think today's gonna to go great. I'm on top of all my homework and it looks like a free weekend coming up!" It's the first time I haven't been sabotaged since before I can remember. I serve up his plate first since he has to leave earlier.

"That's wonderful Taylor!" My dad's smiling now. "Maybe we can spend a day together on the Boardwalk, maybe even head to the Market. I could even be convinced to window shop," he lightly teases.

Now I'm grinning back. "Sure dad, we haven't done that in long time. Let's check it out tomorrow, for lunch."

"Deal." He finishes eating, puts his plate in the sink, and kisses me on the cheek on his way out. "Bye sweetheart, I love you, have a great day!"

"Bye dad! Love you too!"

Without my dad, I know I would've snapped a long time ago. As it is, I'm proudly daddy's little girl and I try my best to make our lives comfortable. Whether it's chores, grades, or even lying about my school situation, my dad is the only family I have left. After Emma… sometimes I think he's all I have left at all.

I finish breakfast, wash the dishes, grab my backpack, and head to the bus stop. It's time to face the day.

3:00 pm

I really shouldn't be feeling so giddy at being ignored, but after everything I just can't help it. I was invisible today. No pranks, no shoves, no words, not even a single look. Even lunch alone in the bathroom was blissfully undisturbed. I've hidden a growing smile since noon, and it's nearly splitting my face. My eyes must be shining behind my glasses. I had peace for a whole day. I have a free weekend, and my dad's actually free to spend the day with me.

Still smiling, I made my way to my locker, thinking I was right this morning. _A great day, probably the start of many_, I thought as I reached to turn the locker's built-in combination lock.

10-12-6-19

– click –

The smells hit me first. A pungent mix that I couldn't even think to identify as nausea surged from my guts and out my mouth. On my self, on the locker door, on what was in the locker. Tears streaming, from the rankness and from the violent vomiting, I barely made out what overwhelmed me before being viciously crammed into it.

Bloody tampons and sanitary pads on top of trash; half eaten lunchmeat swarming with bugs; a sickeningly sweet mix of soda and trash juices; rotting fruit and my addition of projectile vomit. I can't stop throwing up. Yellow bile and stomach acid as my stomach pumps itself until it cramps.

Forcing myself to turn around while submerged in mess, I don't know how long it takes me before I'm facing the four small vents letting a glimmer of light into my hell. And then I hear the laughter.

For a moment, just a tiny moment, I can clearly hear Sophia's deeper guffaws, Madison's tinkling tittering, and Emma's once gentle laughter now maliciously sharp.

It's over and the watching crowd drowns them out.

Classes were over and everyone was headed out to go home for the weekend. I was a cheap and easy laugh, the loser stuck in her locker with nasty things. Peer pressure and social norms stop anyone and everyone from helping, especially under the eyes of my bullies. I know they're still watching and laughing. Laughing at my cries and screams. Laughing as I start begging. Pleading to anyone listening, appealing to the sense of dignity and respect people should have for each other. How can they stand by while knowing how wrong this is? It's debasing, dehumanizing, and just fucked up.

"Please, anyone, I can't breathe in here."

Laughter.

"It's disgusting in here, please I'm begging you, anybody."

Laughter.

"Come on, this really isn't funny. I'm going to pass out in here."

Laughter.

The sounds are slowly dying off, and I'm glad it's finally over and they're going to let me go.

"We're going to leave you in here. That'll teach you your place. You're nothing and you never will be."

Sophia

Uneasiness creeps over me like a looming shadow.

"Have fun Taylor!"

Madison

My stomach drops and terror seizes me.

"Goodbye Taylor."

Emma.

With a flat voice she cuts through the tiny modicum of hope I still held to get my former best friend back. The girl who grew up with me, who did everything with me, who ignored my awkwardness, who was there when my mom died.

Shock and horror. This wasn't a joke any more. I barely hear them laughing together as they walk away. They'd probably waited until they were the last ones left. There was no one there to help me. I was alone, and I black out.

* * *

Tiny legs crawling along my neck wake me up with a shot of fear and disgust. I'm trying to jump away before I remember where I am: stuck in a festering locker.

The dim light from the moon barely crawls through the vents and I take stock of my circumstances. Buried in filth with no way out. How could they do this to me? How could nobody help? I know I would help. There are some lines you don't cross. Morals exist, otherwise civilization couldn't. Humans had to care for each other, had to acknowledge that others were people too; individuals with their respective hopes and dreams as it were. How could NOBODY help?

I'm crying again as I move my arms to try to get some leverage on the door. I can barely push against it, and I'm not sure what I'm going to do even if I could. Arms in front of me, bent at the elbows, I feebly begin banging on the locker door. My last favorite sweater has soaked up some of the juices around me, and it gets on my face as I continue my limited movements.

How long have I been doing this? An hour? Two? Exhaustion settles in my shoulders first, I can barely hold my arms up. Next in my legs as the locker's shape forces me to stay standing. The metal door is unyielding. Stiff, cold, hard metal. It's probably barely half a centimeter thick, but I might as well jump across the bay in a single bound.

If only I was a parahuman. If I had some kind of power that could let me walk through it, blow it away, anything. But I'm just Taylor. Just Taylor who was locked in a locker alone. Abandoned. Just Taylor who isn't anyone special, had no friends.

_Dad is probably starting to get worried now_

The thought brings tears to my eyes, tears that I thought I'd run out of.

_Dad, Daddy, I'm so sorry._

I cry myself to sleep, or I pass out. There isn't much of a difference at this point.

* * *

The December cold wakes me up with a shiver. Then I keep shivering and feel my forehead. Do I have a fever? I have to use the bathroom.

Time passes and my bodily fluids join the filth around me. I'm beyond humiliated and can't bring myself to care. More shivering wracks my body and I remember the school shuts off the heat over the weekend.

How long have I been here?

* * *

Delirium has joined Cold and Fever and Filth.

Incomprehensible images pass before my eyes. Fever dreams mixed with a deteriorating consciousness. Shivering.

Everyone left me here. Most of the school must know I'm here. None of them care. Just like the metal of the locker. Just going on with their own existences. It doesn't bend just because I might die. They don't care about anything but their own lives.

Pain joins my other guests. Entering the festivities with a building migraine.

I don't care any more.

Stark acceptance: I'm going to die in here.

More delusions flash before me. An out-of-body experience. I see some big shapes. Ignore the images, just try to stay awake.

* * *

Did I pass out again? I can't tell any more. Sunlight streams thro– wait. That's too much light. I lean back from the locker door and bring my limited focus to bear. The top of the locker door is slightly bent outward. Not much, just a small crack, but bigger than the vents. Maybe an inch?

I weakly push with everything I have left, and it moves a little more. At least another inch now. I push again, but I'm too tired. So tired I feel it even more clearly than anything else. Bone-achingly, mind-numbingly tired. There isn't any hope in this.

I just wanted to live. Forget revenge, forget hate, forget unfairness and forget caring. I just want to live.

Fever, Delirium, and Pain hit me with another incognizable set of illusions and images. Have to stay focused, ignore the nonsense. I hear drips. My nose is bleeding now.

Dizziness spins into view, sucking away all the other feelings in a whirlpool. I feel the combination lock spin and click before I'm falling.

* * *

Looking for a beta, please PM me if interested.

~Sleep


	2. Interlude 1: Just Doing My Job

Disclaimer: I don't own Worm.

A/N Just a quick blip of inspiration that wouldn't leave me alone.

AN 2: Redone to plug the plot holes.

Also, changed Taylor's canon eye color, not important.

~Work

Interlude: Just Doing My Job

Danny Herbert knew, the way all good parents do, that his daughter wasn't telling him the whole truth; at least about her school life. It was in the way she looked before she went out each morning. Tired, Resigned, Defeated. The slumped posture, slight frowns, and fake smiles were all the more pronounced when he saw her at home after a long day. As much as he raged inside, and, if he was being honest, outside in private moments or channeling anger at the local bureaucracy, there wasn't anything he could do.

He'd complained three times her first semester at Winslow High, and nothing had come of it. Nothing except Taylor, his bright, intelligent, and conservative daughter, coming home in tears. They'd taken her mother's flute. They'd trashed her backpack. They'd ruined her schoolwork. Each time Danny had tried to help things had only escalated.

When Taylor had, quite obviously, lied about things getting better and asked… told him that he didn't have to complain any more, he'd felt as if someone had torn out his heart. He was a failure as a father. Couldn't even protect his darling little girl, the only living part that remained of Annette. Couldn't make sure she was happy. And now he couldn't provide for his family.

There wasn't any need for dockworkers when the docks weren't a viable business any more. Instead of the Lord's Port, it was the Boat Graveyard. There the waterlogged hulls of hundreds of shipping boats that had either been intentionally capsized in protest or trapped by others that had, blocked the only seaside real estate that hadn't been absorbed by the Boardwalk or Downtown or the Shantytown slums. None of those places were hiring manual laborers, at least not legally. The point was moot since they didn't have large docking facilities any way. The sunken boats couldn't be cleared away or even furnished by just normal human beings, at least not without funding the city wasn't willing to spare. Millions, if not tens of millions of dollars, to just move some junked boats was not going to happen.

Asking a parahuman to help out was both so absurd it was funny and dangerous enough that it wasn't. There weren't any rogue capes, unaffiliated parahumans who didn't commit crimes or stop them, with the required strength. Putting in a request for one of the local heroes to spend their time doing manual labor instead of stopping criminals just didn't make sense to anyone. At least in the short-term. Danny believed if the Docks could be refurbished they could revitalize the local economy. Gangs just wouldn't be as attractive if there was less poverty and more jobs to go around. Instead, four more guys quit last week, split between joining the white supremacist Empire Eighty-Eight and the drug-peddling Merchants. Asking a criminal cape for help was asking for a life threatening beating or a gang takeover of whatever progress was made. Most likely both.

There just didn't seem to be a solution. The city's economy was turning more and more to tourism, and that didn't leave many options for the hundreds, nearly a thousand, former dockworkers and their families. Even if the number was slowly shrinking. Growing disillusionment with the city and its leaders was headed in an ugly direction. It wasn't overt, but for Danny the signs were as clear the ocean next to the city. Things couldn't go on like this.

Sighing, Danny turned his thoughts back to his daughter. Things seemed to be getting better this week, and he really was looking forward to spending some of the weekend together. She'd even had one of those smiles, the one's that had all but faded when Annette passed on.

The phone rang, startling him out of his thoughts. He checked the time, 6:00 pm, Taylor should've been home already. Danny walked over to the phone and picked up.

* * *

Jonathan Pierce had been the janitor of Winslow High School for only a month. Judging him by his outward appearance, from his average height and features, grey hair and flat mustache, he looked made to be a janitor. He certainly didn't mind the work. It was an honest living and finding a solid job after working at the docks for most of his life was a stroke of luck. His schedule wasn't too bad either, work through the school week, run maintenance. The school even gave him Friday afternoons off. He just had to come in some time on Sunday and clean up whatever messes he didn't reach Friday morning.

Jonathan shivered, a cold front had hit Brockton Bay's usually mild climate and it had even dropped below zero on Friday night; first time in a decade the newspaper had said. With a resigned sigh, he parked his car in front of the school and mentally prepared himself for a cold day's work. The school keys jangling lightly, he walked toward the front doors sedately. No point in rushing when the heater had already been off since Friday night. It was probably colder inside.

He checked his watch and 10:00 am blinked back at him. With another sigh he unlocked the doors and walked inside.

* * *

"Hello, Mr. Herbert?"

"Speaking. May I ask who's calling?"

The girl on the other end let out small giggle, "Mr. Herbet, you don't know who I am? I can't believe you've already forgotten. It's me, Emma!"

Danny froze, a sense of imminent foreboding draped over him. Still, he answered, "Emma, it's nice to hear from you, I haven't heard from you in a while."

"It hasn't been thaaaaat long" she replied. It had, Emma had stopped coming around over a year ago, Danny hadn't talked to her in several months. "Anyway, I'm just calling to let you know that Taylor and I made up! We've talked things out and I think we're ready to friends again."

His feelings of worry relented, but didn't disappear. "That's great. Would you mind putting Taylor on the phone so I can talk to her? We had plans for tomorrow."

"... She's not with you? I'm calling to talk to _her_ Mr. Hebert."

Danny started panicking, "_What_? Emma, Taylor hasn't come home yet!"

"Oh my God! Umm… I don't know what to tell you Mr. Hebert, I haven't seen her since school ended."

"Are you sure!? This is serious Emma, Taylor might be missing!"

There was a slight pause before she answered, "... I'm sure Mr. Hebert, I left after saying goodbye at school."

Danny gripped the phone tightly with both hands, trying to remain calm. "Emma, I don't know what happened between you and Taylor, but this is her life on the line. If you know anything at all, please tell me."

Another pause, "...That's all I know Mr. Hebert. I swear."

"Okay... thank you Emma, I'll call the police."

"... Alright Mr. Hebert, will you let me know if you hear anything?"

"Sure. I've got to make that call now. Bye Emma." He hung up.

"Nine-one-one what's your emergency?"

"I think my daughter's missing! She didn't come home from school…"

Danny sat on the couch, holding his head up with his hands. He barely held himself together.

Emma's claims that Taylor had been with her until early afternoon meant that the police couldn't file a full missing persons report. There wasn't enough proof that she was actually missing. Teenagers were known to disappear for blocks of time, and although Danny had his concerns, they told him to wait a bit longer.

The police would alert their officers to keep an eye out for a girl by her description, but white, fifteen, five feet six, glasses, green-eyes, and long black hair were her physical descriptors. How could they possibly find someone like that? There had to be at least a hundred girls by that exact description, hundreds more if you took away the glasses. Things like how her eyes were both gray and green depending on the lighting, how her face sported almost aristocratic nose and cheekbones, and how her bright wide smile could split her face; these things didn't make the cut.

Danny didn't sleep Friday night.

* * *

_'Something smells weird'_

Jonathan was working his way down the West wing of the school with a mop and bucket. He'd done a quick round of the school on Friday after lunch, just to get a feel for where any messes were. It had been fairly clean then, so he'd gone home knowing what to expect today. That's why the smell in the air was so out-of-place. He really couldn't place it. Usually any big messes happened during or just after the lunch period, teenagers weren't exactly the cleanest group of people, but he hadn't experienced anything outrageous since starting his brief tenure.

He looked around, walked briskly to both ends of the hallway, and still nothing. Just as he was about to start again, there was a loud creaking noise. It sounded rusty, like old metal bending, a sound typical of one of his days at the shipyard, but rather out of place at a school. A bit creepy if he thought about it. He peered into the four nearby classrooms and looked down the adjacent hallways again. Still empty.

Shrugging his shoulders, he resumed his work, a bit unsettled but this school wasn't exactly new and he wasn't that familiar with it yet. He put the smell and the sound out of his mind.

* * *

Still no sign of Taylor, and frustratingly there wasn't much else he could do but wait. The clock showed 8:45, he started the coffee machine and prepared himself. Numbness and despair crawled up his back.

To distract himself, Danny reflected on the conversation with Emma. She said she didn't know anything, but his suspicions really weren't assuaged. He knew Emma was one of her bullies during her freshman year, before they'd stopped talking about the subject. He'd stopped bringing it up once it was clear, through brief silences and awkward segues, that she didn't want to talk about it. It was possible that Taylor and Emma had made up; they had been friends for years. It didn't seem likely from what he'd seen and heard though. Though Taylor did seem to be having a good week…

Thinking about Taylor again caused his fists to clench. Stony faced, Danny sat by the phone with his coffee. He'd tried doing work, but work meant nothing if his daughter was in trouble, and he couldn't shake the feeling that… the police said to stay positive. He'd called the police again early this morning, and they'd put some detectives on the case. Calling the Barnes' household right after wasn't the best idea, but he was beyond caring. Emma had answered with a quiver in her voice, but Danny dismissed it; he had more important things to worry about. She hadn't heard anything new and he hung up.

Taylor… the last part of Annette… His missing daughter tore at his heart strings, and hopelessness continued to set in. All he could do was wait.

* * *

The smell was getting stronger now, and more disgusting than weird. Jonathan was walking from the West wing to the East, and things really smelled bad. Like a container full of rotten produce bad. There was something dead in the school. Irritation flashed across his face, pinching his eyes together, before he let out a heavy sigh. Probably some sort of prank that someone had forgotten about. He strode forward with his rolling bucket, approaching the hall intersection and preparing for a search by smell for something disgusting.

Then, in the largely silent air, he heard a distinct click followed by squeaky hinges. Then a wet thump. The sound of something meaty falling to the ground. Reaching the T-intersection, he looked right, clear, then left.

When the police later questioned him, Jonathan would have to explain how he'd spend a good ten minutes throwing-up. Unsure of what he was staring at, he'd finally called the police when it looked like the dead body was still breathing; short burst of foggy breath in the cold air.

~Sleep


	3. Ch 2: Fracture

Disclaimer: Still own nothing, just borrowing.

A/N: I got my first reviews; the feeling is a lot more exciting than I thought it would be. Also have a couple favorites too.

I'll be upfront, I really enjoy world building; it's where I feel like there's the most potential. On this note, my story will probably move along slowly at times. I will do my best to keep/make it interesting, and I hope people stick with it. I can promise I've planned some pretty awesome stuff. Because I want to keep people interested and to balance all the angst, I pulled a late, late night to get this done ahead of schedule to celebrate my reviewers. Enjoy!

A/N 2: Minor edits for consistency.

~Work

-Beep- - - - Beep- - - - Beep - - -

Waking up in the hospital _hurts_. It's not just fluttering eyelids, seeing whiteness, and then your loved ones full of relief. I guess those things could've happened for someone else, but my right eye was swollen shut. My dad didn't know where I was, and I had no friends. Trying to turn my head to look around the room informs me brutally how cramped my body is. The kind of cramps that seize your leg and you can't move. Except every muscle, from my toes, thighs, abs, back, and neck feels that same cramp. And it is ongoing. The tightness aches in all the hard to reach places, the small muscles I didn't know existed feel like they've been forced to work until exhaustion. My face hurts, but when I move to rub it I notice my arms and chest are loosely strapped down. A pinching tightness reveals an IV needle in the crook of my right elbow, and glance at my left a clip for the pulsing heart rate screen. I barely feel the electrodes stuck on my chest and back. I even feel what must be a catheter attached to my… body.

Shaking my self out of my mortification, I glance at my surroundings: the dark room smells sterile; curtains to block off the light from the rest of the hospital let a few fluorescent beams through the bottom and the sides. A white board on the wall to my right displays the room information and a message.

ICU Observation Room # 9C

Date: 12/09/2010

Nurse on Call: Diana

Call if you need anything!

My head falls back onto the hospital bed. Another quick glance around the room reveals a clock, 8:00, but the windowless room doesn't tell me if it's morning or night. I notice more loose straps on my legs, around my ankles and above my knees. Besides the aches and constant cramps, my body hurts. Bandages and gauze around my mid-right calf, my upper left arm, and what I thought were just electrodes on my back. Feels like three more bandages back there when I focus, and all of them radiating a persistent, dull pain.

But I'm alive. The realization begins deep in the pit of my stomach and surges upward. Relief, thankfulness, and elation overtake me and tears begin falling. Hysterically happy, I begin sobbing uncontrollably interrupted by hiccups and swallowing the building spit and snot. Thank God. Thank whatever higher power exists in my life. All I can grasp is that I'm alive when I shouldn't be.

As I'm shaking, the heart rate monitor spikes with activity and then flat lines, and for a moment I'm confusedly silent as I distinctly hear the continuous beep sound.

An electronic shriek pierces the air as the hospital alarm assaults my ears unbearably. The room's sliding glass door slams open with a force that I'm vaguely surprised doesn't shatter it, and a hand rips the curtain aside revealing a tall and thin bespectacled doctor. He pauses and stares at me as I press the button the bed's side panel to adjust the incline. We stare at each other in a brief moment of mutual bewilderment, before he finishes walking inside and shuts off the alarm. A couple of hospital orderlies have just made it the door with what I'm assuming is a wheeled defibrillator.

He turns around, "She's fine, false alarm. Must be an equipment malfunction." Returning to face me, "I'm happy to see you awake Miss Hebert, you weren't in the best condition when you first got here."

I open my mouth to respond and only a rasping croak comes out.

"You must be thirsty. One moment, I'll call your nurse" He walks over and pokes his head through the curtain, "Diana, could you please bring some water and some juice? Thanks." Returning to my bedside, he picks up the clipboard on the table to my left, out of reach for me earlier, and introduces himself.

"Miss Hebert, I'm Dr. Daniels. I've been treating you since you were brought into the ICU yesterday. You're currently at Brockton Hospital."

A nurse walks in with two Styrofoam cups, capped with straws. Pinned on her scrubs over her heart, an ID with her picture, information, and a row of gold stars. She looks young, probably her mid twenties, and cropped brown hair with a warm smile. "Here you are, this one's water and this one's apple juice. You're looking much better Taylor; we'll have you healthy sooner than you think." Her bedside demeanor exudes gentleness, and I can't help but smile back. Her eyes crinkle as her smile widens, "Don't be afraid to bother me with anything you need, just push that red button."

As she exits, I shakily reach for the cup of water and take a small sip. Dr. Daniels steps up and resumes talking, "You were brought in from Winslow High School approximately four in the afternoon. It's currently," he glances at his watch, "8:20 am, Monday morning." _I'd been stuck in there for almost two days? They'd left me there for two days?_ "You were severely dehydrated, with a high fever of one hundred and four degrees, several infections, including five topical abscesses, and some mild cerebral hemorrhaging. You're lucky to be alive Miss Hebert."

_Of course I'm lucky, my bullies tried to kill me._ Aloud I could only ask, "What happens now?"

"Well, we've already lanced the abscesses, those are beneath those bandages by the way, and connected you to an IV drip with antibiotics. Unfortunately, because of the mild brain damage…" _Brain Damage!?_ "…We can't give you any strong pain killers because we aren't sure how they would interact."

I took another sip of water to wet my suddenly dry mouth, "…Brain damage? Am I going to be okay?"

"We're fairly confident that you'll make a full recovery, it appears as if the combined infections and fever placed an undue amount of stress on your brain. We only know about the damage because of the almost constant bloody nose you had when you first came in. We haven't been able to get you through an MRI scan yet because of your condition."

Relieved, I bring up the next issue, still trying not to think about the catheter, "Um… Why am I strapped to the bed?"

Dr. Daniels sighs and replies, "The combination of the dehydration and pain from the infections caused all your body's muscles to cramp and attempt to curl in on themselves. The straps were especially necessary since we couldn't give you muscle relaxants with the potential brain damage. Now that you've made some recovery, we can probably start you on some kind of regime." Seeing my somewhat blank look, he summed it up, "In other words, you're not in trouble, the straps were to help you, and we're taking them off."

I nod and look down at my body, trying to take stock of how I feel. Dr. Daniels misinterpreted, my expression and brought up the subject I'd been trying to avoid, "I'm sorry if this is so abrupt, but the police wanted to talk to you when you were awake."

Still dazed at what had happened to me, I spoke in a near whisper, "Okay, but is my dad here?"

At this Dr. Daniels cracked his first genuine smile of his visit, "He's been here since yesterday afternoon, how do you think we knew your information? I'll let him know you're awake and give you have some time before the police come for your statement."

My heart caught in my throat, I could only nod as he turned to leave the room. Staring off into space, it was only a few minutes later when my dad walked in. I felt like I was six again, when I'd gotten separated from my family at the park and couldn't find them, "Daddy?"My voice was small, curled in like a wounded animal.

"Oh, Taylor…" He swooped in and wrapped me in an awkward hug around the body straps as we both start crying.

* * *

My dad stands close by to the left of my bed. The lights were turned on when the doctor first came in, and I take a moment to take in his unshaven face, patchy and somewhat silly looking facial hair, and his baggy red eyes. _I can't let this happen again. I can't let my dad suffer because of me ever again._ He looks down at me, puts a hand on my shoulder, and smiles. Hearing bustling footsteps in the hall, we take a moment to compose ourselves as we wait for the police to walk in.

We look up as the door slides opens, and Principal Blackwell and Alan Barnes walk in. My dad clenches my shoulder painfully, preparing to launch into a tirade. I remember the ones from freshman year, the ones everyone in the hallway could clearly hear, and I reach up, placing my hand over his, and shake my head when he looks at me. The nurse had come by and helped me remove the straps.

Alan started off, "Good news! I've talked with the police and cleared Emma of any involvement! Now they can get started on catching the real culprits!"

_WHAT?_

Silence reigns, my dad and I are both shocked at his sheer audacity. He takes this as a cue to continue. "Of course the school and I have worked out an arrangement, and we'll be covering your _extensive_ hospital bills and compensating you for missed work of course." My mind flashes to the pile of bills on the kitchen counter, two months worth now. I look up at my dad and I know we'll have to take it. The way his jaw clenches shows anger, but his pinched and closed eyes let me know we can't afford to pay for the treatments. He held that look for months when money was tight following my mom's funeral. Anger tinged with resignation and bitterness.

When dad opens his mouth, Alan smiles a winning courtroom smile and continues, "Of course, I understand if you choose to go a different route, and that's why I've brought Principal Blackwell here. To discuss our options." At that moment I think I would've hit him if I could move right. I couldn't believe that we were talking about this. About my tormentors getting a free pass after what I'd been through. _Does he know his daughter helped do this to me? Is he covering it up? Were our families ever really friends?_

Before Principal Blackwell begins, my dad steps forward, "You can't honestly believe we're going to let this go, that the police are going to let this go? Your daughter, Emma, _lied_ to me. She told me she had no idea where Taylor was. She told me they were _friends_ again. Emma pretty much admitted she was _bullying_ Taylor earlier. I think we'll press charges."

Alan's smile turns cold, "Before you do that, I think you consider that there's no proof. Witnesses? Emma's friends Sophia and Madison can and will say they hadn't seen Taylor since school let out on Friday. No one knows who put your daughter in that locker, and I'm sure the intention wasn't to keep her there that long. This will get tied up in court; everything is circumstantial. I can guarantee it."

"You son of a b –"

"DAD!" As he turns to me, I look Mr. Bar– Alan straight in the eyes, "We'll hear what Principal Blackwell has to say." It all came down to what we could prove, and we couldn't prove that who shoved me into the locker. Maybe we could prove Emma had lied about where I was, but even that was flimsy. If I still had any thoughts as to whether or not our families had been real friends… they were laid to rest now.

Principal Blackwell, a medium-sized woman, with brown blonde hair in some bowl-cut style, cleared her throat and began, "Winslow High has prepared two options. The first, we announce the details of the incident and prepare the school for an external investigation. Unfortunately, this investigation will be mostly hearsay, and it is uncertain whether anything would come of it. In addition, we would not be able to justly reimburse you for the incident until the investigation is over…"

Going public would be a disaster for everyone, one I'm not sure we would lose less. The bad publicity for the school, for Alan's law firm, having my problems aired out for the greater public… I'm not sure who had the most to lose, but I wasn't willing to chance it. I just wanted my dad to be happy. If we were happy and comfortable, I could deal.

"… Because until there is proof that the incident happened at the school during school hours."

My dad had returned to my side and he held my left hand in a tight grip. I squeeze back, empathizing with how powerless he feels at the moment.

"The alternative is we handle it internally with the following terms. Winslow acknowledges that Taylor is having some sort of bullying problem, we disperse the information to the faculty to keep and eye on her and hopefully catch the culprits in the act. This decision would allow Winslow to justify paying for Taylor's hospital bills and Mr. Hebert missing work."

I spoke up, "Can I ask how much my stay is going to cost?"

Alan stepped forward and handed me the paperwork. My dad looked over my shoulder as I flipped to the last page holding the estimate. It totaled to be about ten thousand dollars. Five minor abscess surgeries, antibiotics and other drugs, overnight stay, the ambulance ride… I read the list and felt my dad clench by when he read the total. We didn't have the money for this even with insurance.

"Can we please have a moment to talk about this?"

"We really need a decis–"

Alan interrupted with a smile, "Certainly! We'll be right outside, call us when you're finished." Principal Blackwell gave him a blank stare, before nodding at us before they both stepped out and shut the door.

"Taylor, listen, the money isn't an issue. We can still go after them if you want."

"Dad… you don't have to lie to me, I _know_ we can't afford that. Remember, you told me you would let me handle my school life."

His shout wasn't unexpected, but it startled me nonetheless, "THAT WAS BEFORE THEY PUT YOU IN THE HOSPITAL!"

I knew he was right, but I had to handle this. I couldn't keep making him worry, and ten thousand dollars would hurt our lives much more in the long run. Especially since, if we pursued a court case, there were more fees to consider. I would solve this myself; I just had to find a way to make the bullying stop… "Dad, let me handle it. I promise to tell you if things start look like they're getting out of hand again, if you promise to not get involved until then."

He looked hurt, "Taylor…"

"Please. Dad, just let me do this myself. Trust me."

"Alright… I promise."

"Okay, could you please call them in?"

Alan and Principal Blackwell come back in and look at my dad expectantly. I start talking, "If things went public, no one would benefit…" They both look to me puzzled, but relieved. "… But I don't think it's fair that you've ignored all my complaints in the past and it lead to this. Emma, Sophia, and Madison can't go _completely_ unpunished."

"That's not pa–"

"Alan, I believe this is my jurisdiction." Alan shuts up and glares at me.

"Miss Hebert, there simply isn't any real proof. I cannot dole out punishments based on the word of one my students against another. Especially when it's one student against three."

"Then I'll settle for just Emma. There's enough uncertainty that I can't blame all three of them, but Emma is involved in the present situation one way or another."

Alan face began approaching his hair color, "Wait a moment, you can't do that!"

Principal Blackwell glanced briefly at him before replying, "What type of punishment are you suggesting? Keep in mind it cannot be severe since the evidence is so circumstantial."

"Probation, for the rest of the school year."

"You can't do that!"

"Disciplinary probation… for the next month."

Alan stewed silently, glaring at all of us.

"For the next three months."

She paused, thinking, and finally answered, "And otherwise you would be fine with the other arrangements? No public reveals or investigations?"

I only felt slightly dirty bargaining a better deal; the whole affair was under the table after all. "Yes, we'll take your hush money if you punish Emma along with your other plans." I couldn't bother with tact at this point.

"Deal, I will make arrangements" and with that she walked out. Alan stayed behind to glare at me, ignoring my dad, before he stormed out.

"Was it worth it Taylor?" my dad asked.

"Not yet, but I think it will be."

* * *

The school called the next day and informed my dad that I had the week off to recover, but I was expected to return next week, the last week before the break, for final exams. I also found out they had declined to pay for a brain MRI. Couldn't expect too much slack after making a deal with devil. I felt fine though, and there weren't any nosebleeds or headaches. Dr. Daniels thinks it was just a one-time thing. I was leaving with souvenirs though, a small box of antibiotics and painkillers, as well as a referral to an optometrist. Apparently when I fell out of the locker I hit my right eye hard enough that, combined with an infection, I need a specialist. As if I wasn't blind enough already… Still, they cleared me to leave the hospital on Wednesday in a wheelchair. My dad helped me into the backseat of the taxi and left me to my thoughts on the ride back. I'm sure he had plenty to think about too.

What normally was just under a minute to get from the front door to my room, took me ten. I couldn't get up the stairs without my dad supporting me, and by the time I laid down, I barely remembered to take off my glasses before I was out like a light.

The sunlight woke me up, and I fumbled for my glasses. They weren't anywhere near me. I slowly shifted toward the dresser, trying to avoid pulling on my bandages, and felt around with my hand. Right, left, right, being blind on top of weak was frustrating. When I was ready to give up and just spend the day in bed, my hand suddenly came down on my metal frames, startling me. _That's kind of weird._Dismissing the thought, I slowly got dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie. Ready to lounge around the house.

Stairs… my new nemesis. Slowly walking down, clasping the wooden handrail, I felt my glasses slide a millimeters forward with each step. I fixed them halfway down, and made it safely to the first floor. Perhaps it was the painkillers, but I turned around, pointed at the stairs and laughed at them. Of course this ate up whatever physical energy I had left and I collapsed on the floor, still laughing. I felt silly and numb, and I wasn't sure how much was the drugs and how much was how surreal the events of past five days were. Regaining control of myself, I sighed and realized I'd lost my glasses in the fall. Squinting, I gingerly felt around me in a circle. Nothing. I slowly moved around and still nothing. Sighing heavily, I resigned myself to leaning against the wall. I guess I'll have to wait until dad gets up, don't want to step on them. I was pretty tired still anyway. Sitting down, back against the wall legs bent, arms on resting on my knees, I tilted my head back to wait.

* * *

My dad shook me awake, "Taylor, what're doing on the floor? The couch is right there."

"I fell and couldn't find my glasses, so I had to wait for you to get up and help."

"Your glasses?" he asked in a clearly bemused tone.

Puzzled, I replied, "Yeah, do you see them?"

He bent down and grabbed one of my hands and moved to place it on the floor between my legs… what? The metal frames were sitting right there. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I think so," I reply as I dazedly stumble up and toward the couch. Something was up, but it couldn't be…

My dad murmured something as he walked into the kitchen to make something to eat. I sat on the couch contemplating what had happened. What I thought had happened. "Okay, well I'm headed to work. Here." He places a plate of plain sandwiches on the table in front of me. "The doctors said you should be able to move onto more substantial solids now, just take it easy. And rest. I love you, be good."

"I love you too dad, have a good day at work."

He smiles and leaves through the front door. I turn to the sandwiches, but I'm not quite hungry yet. I wanted to know what was going on with my glasses. Were the meds making me crazy? Or were two events too obvious to ignore. It would be easy to find out, but it's just so impossible. At least my dad wasn't here to think I was crazy. Sliding off my glasses, I lean forward and place them on the coffee table in front of me. It's about three by four feet, and I placed them about a foot toward the middle. I sat back and concentrated.

Except what was I supposed to do? Call out to them like a dog? 'Here glasses, here boy!' The drugs must be getting to my head more than I thought. Sure the locker event was horrible, scarring even, but nothing point to a trigger event. To be fair, all of my 'expertise' came from browsing Parahuman Online forums in computer class… back when I'd daydreamed about a hero coming to save me. I would've noticed something like a _**trigger**_. _Wishful thinking_. I closed my eyes and sighed, _what would I do with powers anyway?_ My eyes still closed I leaned forward to where my glasses were and snapped them open in shock.

Sitting there on the edge of the table, oh-so-innocently were my plain metal-framed glasses.

_Holy Shit!_

Jubilation tore through me. I had **powers**. Laughter bubbled out of me, getting louder with each passing moment. I laughed and laughed.

I wasn't sure how much time passed before I calmed down. The thought that I had triggered sometime in that locker was possible. It had to have been in the locker. The thought was sobering. I had mentally collapsed sometime during that cocktail of mental and physical pain and sickness. Suddenly having a power didn't seem worth it. I couldn't even use it to get out of a fucking high school locker.

Taking a few deep breaths, I looked down at my glasses. At least I should explore what it can do; can't change the past and all that. Placing them back near the center of the table, I sat back and peeled my eyes as I tried again to will my glasses toward me. Stared and imagined them moving toward me. Nothing. There had to me some trick to it. Was it mindset? I was frustrated the previous three times, so maybe that was the key. I concentrated again, focusing on how frustrating it was that I couldn't move/reach my glasses. Nothing.

What the hell? It can't be the drugs; I'm not imagining things. I closed my eyes and tried to remember how it felt. Like a push? Like a pull? I opened them and willed myself to pull my glasses toward me.

Hearing them, watching them slowly slide across the table may have been the most emotionally ambiguous moment of my life. I settled on elation.

_Yes! This. Is. Awesome. I have bonafide powers!_

I could still barely believe it, even having the proof in front of me.

_Fuck everyone at Winslow. Fuck you Sophia, Fuck you Madison,_

_Fuck you Emma._

I had something they didn't. Something they couldn't take away from me. I was special; part of a group of people that people around the world respected. Heroes, Villains, Rogues, Capes. I was part of them all, and damn wasn't it a great feeling.

Settling down… again… I picked my glasses up and pondered what my power did. I could pull things toward me? A moment later, I figure I could also push things. I then slid my glasses back and forth on the table for several minutes. Completely rational behavior for when you find out you have a power. Glancing at the plate of sandwiches, I put on my glasses, broke off a small piece of bread, and placed it on the table… Nope can't move that. So it's not telekinesis.

Leaning into the couch, I held my glasses in front of me. Just metal and glass... I looked around and didn't see any glass so I slowly made my way into the kitchen. Reaching into the cupboard, I pulled out a glass cup, and then a metal spoon from the cutlery drawer. Returning to my seat on the couch, I set both objects on the coffee table. Staring first at the glass cup, I thought briefly about how having silicakinesis could be a bad thing, before trying to move the cup – push, pull – nothing. A hint of relief floated through my mind at having dodged a possible bullet. Turning to the metal spoon, I took another set deep breath.

Power over metal?

That would be… pretty fantastic if I was being honest. Looking down at the spoon again, I reached out and tried to push it. It moved. Again when I pulled. It was official my powers were metal related.

The excitement bubbled up again, but I capped it for the moment. Looking at the spoon again, I tried a lateral movement, right or left. The spool vibrated and moved at a slight diagonal. That was… confusingly vague. Concentrating again, I tried to pull from the right of the spoon. It moved diagonally right toward me. Huh… I added a push from the left and a pull from the right and the spoon flipped right and off the table. That… wasn't the same control I had earlier.

Moving to pick up the spoon again, I thought about everything I'd heard about parahumans, specifically new ones. Powers were supposed to be instinctive when triggered, and could be refined with practice. I was having trouble moving a spoon right, much less control than anything I'd read before… I set the spoon back on the table and paused to think.

Push and pull… that pointed toward something more than control over metal… Magnets? What was that even called? At least with control over metal there was precedence with Kaiser, racist hatemonger that he is, could manipulate metal to a certain extent. Magnet kinesis? Magnetic kinesis? No… it would be something like… Magnetokinesis. And it would be something that I've never heard of. I'd have to check online when I get the chance. Assuming my powers are magnetic-natured, then that would mean I'm the magnet… Everything is going to be pushed or pulled by my power with me at center. If I want to move something right… I'm going to need more vectors of force… Some to move the spoon in the direction I want it go, while others to counterbalance the greater attraction that has me at the center.

Focusing, I prepared two magnetic pushes, one outward and one left to right, and one pull moving right. The spoon slowly and jerkily moved to the right, and I prepared to let out my enthusiasm when the room spun.

Falling back heavily into the couch, there was a wetness on my upper lip. Almost unconsciously licking it, the metallic taste was my first hint of trouble. The dripping sound of liquid onto cloth was the second. Looking down at the red stains on my hoodie, I shakily moved my hand to my nose.

Blood.

_"Cerebral Hemorrhaging" "Brain Damage"_

As shock overwhelmed me, I became acutely aware of other familiar feelings, tiredness and pain. Full-bodied, deep, profound exhaustion coupled with a growing headache. They battled for dominance as I found myself unable to muster any resistance. It felt like sleep paralysis, being aware of things around you, but completely unable to move your body. The pain kept growing, approaching a migraine. I was stuck for a few minutes, frozen in place by both exhaustion and pain. My final thoughts before darkness finally overtook me was some combination of 'Too good to be true', 'Worth It', and 'Not Again!'

A/N

~Sleep


	4. Ch 3: Dreams

Disclaimer: Borrowing the Wildbow's world and taking it for a whirl, I still own nothing.

A/N: Before I forget, the canon timeline is NOT in effect for this story. Taylor was stuck for days not hours in my series of events. Some of the same things still happen, just probably not in the same timeframe. Also I've been advised not to reply to reviews, so won't be doing that any more. ONWARD

Beta'd by Inconspicuous Llama

-Work

* * *

With a tremendous breath and eyes snapping open, I shot up on the couch, breathing heavily. After a minute or so, my racing heart slowed back to normal and I all but flop backward, sinking into the cradle of the worn couch cushions. The possible brain trauma doesn't return to the forefront of my thoughts until I notice the reddish brown flakes scattered on over my face and clothes. Shedding my, luckily, burgundy colored hoodie, I almost robotically walk to the small laundry room next to kitchen. Absently wondering if the bloodstains would force me to throw away the fairly new article of clothing, I scrub detergent into the affected area while my mind zooms into focus.

_My power almost killed me trying to move a spoon…_

Stuck between incredulity and near hysterical despair, I tossed the hoodie into the washer and began the cycle. Stiffly returning to the couch, I stared down at the spoon resting benignly on the table. A brief flicker crossed the golden light shining through the window. Blinking in surprise I shaded my eyes to peer outside; judging by the sun's position the spoon incident had cost me an entire day. Great. I can move metal, but something the size of a spoon knocks me out.

Releasing a deep breath, I plop myself back down and pick up one of dad's sandwiches. Nibbling at the edges, I push my hair behind my shoulders and cross my legs. Something obviously wasn't right here. My power shouldn't be able to hurt me. Nothing I'd read or heard had even hinted that a parahuman's power caused pain like _that_. It might be possible, I guess, but someone would have leaked it. I sat thinking, finishing off the sandwich without reaching a clear answer.

A slight pang causes my eyes to flicker back to the spoon before my shifting sends another through my right leg. The painkillers faded during my impromptu nap, and my sitting position aggravated one of the still healing abscesses. Putting my malfunctioning power out of mind, I shuffled into the kitchen and picked up a prescription bottle. A quick press and turn, and a pale yellow pill sat in my hand, small numbers reading '10-325' on both sides. I filled a glass of water from the sink, swallowed the pill with a gulp, and wandered back to the couch with the bottle.

Trying to avoid any undue pain, I positioned myself carefully this time and eased back down slowly. The spoon lay still, as if taunting me, but I couldn't muster the courage for another attempt. Chills ran up my spine. _Brain damage_. What if I didn't wake up and my dad came home to find me covered in blood? I picked up the orange plastic pill bottle to distract myself when laundry machine announced the end of its cycle. After quick trip to start the dryer, I sat gingerly holding the bottle. The label displayed my information on one side and some pill details on the other:

Percocet  
(oxycodone/acetaminophen tablets, USP)  
10 mg/325 mg  
25 tablets

Part oxycodone and part acetaminophen… The latter is Tylenol?

Before I could dwell any longer my pain pills, the sound of the front door unlocking drew my attention. My dad walked in with a furrowed brow and somewhat of a slump. When he saw me his expression lightened, but even his smile couldn't hide the tiredness around his eyes.

"Hey Taylor, how was your day?"

In a brief moment of drug induced madness I considered telling the truth.

_Well, after you left this morning, I decided to see if I had turned into a parahuman. Turns out I am one, but moving that spoon on the table caused me to pass out in pain. Oh! And I think it might have damaged my brain._

"It was okay, I didn't move much from the couch. Fell asleep a bit after you left. Oh, I spilled some juice on my hoodie so I threw it in the wash. It's in the dryer now."

He walked to the work desk and began unpacking his briefcase. "You should've waited for me to get home. Juice isn't a serious stain."

I'd kept some secrets from my dad in the past, losing Emma as a friend, the full extent of the bullying. One way or another, they had all come out in the end.

"I'm not that sick, it was just the hoodie."

But this was something I _couldn't_ tell him. Not when I didn't know what had happened myself. Was my brain damaged? Was it terminal? Having powers would be cool, sure, but I didn't need them to be happy. A comfortable life with my dad… I'd call it settling if it wasn't genuinely all I wanted right now.

"Alright, but I don't want you doing anything to exhaust yourself. Remember, the doctor said you might have some minor brain issues, so if you notice anything out of place – let me know and we'll go back to the hospital"

_I'm sorry dad; I know we can't afford that._ Definitely couldn't tell him; couldn't make him worried until I knew for certain. Until there was proof.

With an exaggerated eye roll I replied, "Daaaaaadddd… I'm fine! Better than ever."

"We'll see kiddo, I'll cook dinner and then you're off to bed. No, don't move, you sit right there."

I'll figure this out, slowly and carefully.

* * *

Today's Friday…

My dad had let me sleep in, leaving another plate of covered sandwiches on the coffee table with a note.

Do Nothing. Sit On This Couch All Day.

Love, Dad

With a small exasperated smile, I moved the endearing note and picked up a sandwich. Deciding to forgo the painkillers this morning felt bearable so far; and all but the most persistent cramps and aches were gone. Dr. Daniels told me they were classified as narcotic painkillers, and the idea of addiction used to keep me up at night. The pills had poured a cloudy haze into my head, everything felt slow: thoughts, movements. With them mostly out of my system the world returned to normal speed. Colors shone brighter, sounds rang truer. Most importantly, I felt more like myself.

But with clarity came truth, and the truth was ugly.

Today's Friday… and a week ago my former-best-friend-turned-bully and her compatriots stuffed me in a locker full of the worst filth they could find and left me. No one helped me. No one even tried. When I'd woken up in the hospital, I harbored no expectation to be alive. And after all of it, after almost dying, the bullies had won. They were pretty much getting away with it, no punishments for two of them, and token gesture, which I had to bargain for, for one. But I was _Alive_. Thinking clearly, I didn't need revenge, didn't need to get back at them.

I did need them the stop.

Yesterday I'd been drugged up and preoccupied with my new ability. I couldn't think about some flawed power right now…

Even though having my glasses come right to my hand this morning, however unconsciously I'd done it, was pretty cool. Freaking out in the bathroom for half an hour, waiting for any sign of a nosebleed… much less so.

Today, drug free and thinking clearly, the truth showed that they wouldn't stop. Sure they might lie low for the week of finals. Maybe. When school started again after the break? Things would get ugly again. I couldn't expect them to somehow learn human decency after the last stunt. Especially when there were no real consequences. The stakes had moved beyond bullying, they'd almost _killed_ me. It would make them bolder. If I could be certain only bullying awaited in the future… no, even bullying was unacceptable. I'd lived through a cocktail of humiliation, cold, infection, and hopelessness; all to brush shoulders with death.

I would find a way to make them stop.

I didn't deserve this. My dad definitely didn't deserve coming home every day to see me barely held together; to wonder about the ways he might be failing me. Proof. With proof came an inescapable accountability no one could dodge. Not the teachers, and obviously not the bullies. If I caught them in the act... but no, they only targeted me. None of the other students helped because they didn't want to draw those tender mercies onto themselves. They didn't want ruined homework, constant harassment, and a friendless life. No matter that if someone tried things could be completely different.

People are selfish.

Turning my mind away from a not-so-exaggerated tangent on the blatant moral decay of my peers, I returned to proof. Maybe someone had taken a picture, a video even, then there wouldn't be any doubts! The previous tangent reappeared with full force, squashing that glimmer of hope. _People are selfish_. No, none of the brief acquaintances at school had given me any reason to trust them for help; to not sell out my plan to my tormentors. If it could even be call it a plan. Perhaps people had taken videos and pictures, but they wouldn't reach the teachers. They never did. If they didn't help before, didn't help when I was stuffed into a locker and left to die, then I couldn't count on them coming forward. Almost half the school passed near my locker to leave after classes, I could assume everyone knew what had happen.

Following this train of thought led me to more truths. With mixed feelings, I realized I honestly didn't care about my classmates. The idea electrified me. They'd stood by and let the indignities pile up, even joining in to laugh at times. In those moments, the token hope that I'd kept deep down inside reassured me: someone will help me. They'll go too far, and someone will step up and stop all of it. And yet as the truth blossomed, and I reached inward for that tiny kernel of hope, I didn't find anything. If someone in school had shown me some real support... then maybe I wouldn't be realizing that if I saw someone being bullied at Winslow, I _wouldn't_ step in.

Why should I? They weren't real friends or family. A year and a half of bullying... in that time how many people joined the laughing? How many had just kept walking? They hadn't shown they deserved my help. Why risk myself for them at all? Maybe at one point I would have even said I was better than them. That belief got me here. The people at Winslow are enemies or strangers, and to me, strangers don't matter any more.

With that, I stood from the couch, retrieved a notebook, and began plotting the future.

* * *

Five hours later and I have nothing. To be fair, I spent the middle two catching up on homework and dozing off, but still… nothing. Everything hinged on the impossibility of taking on the bullies without backup. My lack of friends never bothered me more.

Regardless, the burning feelings still pointed more at frustration rather than a desire for revenge. The infringements on my quality of life, from dreading school every day, to worrying my dad, to my mental state… the same thoughts rotating through my mind in a cruel carousel. I could walk into school and attack them, explode in fury, pretend I snapped.

Where would that get me? Expelled? Crush my dad who held hopes for me for college? Where would I go then? Immaculata when a pile of bills sat on the counter? Clarendon on the other side of the city? Arcadia…? The Wards went to Arcadia, so did kids in New Wave when they actually went to class. The power school… where bullies couldn't exist since no one knew who might be a cape. You didn't pick on someone who might be able to throw you through a wall or freeze you in time. Arcadia… Arcadia would be ideal. No more bullies, a chance at a real high school life… maybe some friends…

Except the waiting list already had around two hundred people.

During my daydreams of a real social life with real friends, my thoughts suddenly froze. Arcadia wouldn't accept me if I went berserk on my classmates, no matter how much they might deserve it, so revenge was definitely out.

But I did have powers.

Could I join the Wards? The Wards went to Arcadia, and whoever directed them could fast track me into the school. It could work… and none of the other plans let me stay with my dad, including the one where I ran away to join a gang for support. My power hurt though; at least it did when I knocked myself out moving spoon yesterday. Somehow I didn't see the ability to move a piece of cutlery as a power that the Wards would find useful. _Criminals Flee Before Moving Spoon_ would never make headlines. But this plan offered my best chance of success, a chance to get away and start over. Twitching tableware aside, I had to test my powers more.

Determinedly, I walked into the kitchen and withdrew a spoon from the drawer. Grabbing a couple extra precautions, tissues for a nosebleed and painkillers for pain I returned to the couch. Setting things down, I plugged my nose with tissues and tilted another yellow pill into my hand and looked at it '10-325'. Thoughts returning to yesterday, I wondered. _Could it really be that simple?_

Standing up again, I made my way to my dad's desk and grabbed some change and some paperclips. After setting them down, I mentally prepared myself and then stared. I imagined projecting magnetic force from my mind, the paperclips moved back and forth a couple times and I stopped. No sign of pain. Another deep breath, I concentrated, adjusting the balance of push and pull, and the paper clip moved right to left. My mouth twitched upward and my heart sped up. Reaching forward, I linked several clips together and tried again. I couldn't hold back the smile as they moved without a problem. Back and forth, side to side, and then circles. Still no sign of pain.

Moving the clips to toward me, I moved to pick them up before I stopped. Pulling my hand back, I looked at the clips and directed the magnetic force below and above them. They slowly rose into the air. I stared transfixed for a few seconds, before I dropped them into my hands. I definitely had powers, and they could work without pain.

Taking out a quarter, I placed it in front of me. A brief moment of nostalgia overcame me with the memory of two little girls in an elementary science class giggling together over a tray of magnets and some metal odds and ends. Rubbing my eyes, I shook off the feeling and concentrated carefully.

The quarter didn't move.

Placing the spoon and the chain of paper clips next to the quarter, I lined them up in a row and then lightly pushed. The clips moved the furthest, the spoon a couple inches, and the quarter not at all. I smiled at my proving my hunch with the pill. 10-325, part oxycodone and part Tylenol. The spoon was stainless steel compared to the cheaper metal of the paper clips; and moving stuff naturally magnetic was clearly easier. Quarters were made from copper and nickel I think, and when they were put together they didn't seem magnetic. I meticulously recorded my findings in my notebook.

There was no pain, and I'd been moving things around for longer than yesterday. I had to know more about my power. Placing the stainless steel spoon on the table, I checked my tissue nose plugs and readied myself. Projecting a similar mix of magnetic waves, I moved the spoon right and then stopped. I examined myself again, looking any signs of pain or blood, and when I found nothing, wrote down a question:

_**Easier/Stronger with Practice?**_

Moving the spoon back, I mentally directed it along the same paths as the paperclip chain. As I completed the first circle, a twinge of minor pain stopped me abruptly. I noticed tiredness creeping into places I could only feel. Checking the tissues after a minute, they came out white. Another notion in the notebook:

_**Pain/Lethargy with Overuse**_

Leaving the spoon alone and staring at the quarter, I struggle to recall what I knew about quarters and magnetic metals. Freshman science covered metals first semester last year. Quarters had copper, which wasn't magnetic, and nickel, which was. Apparently though, the small amount of nickel wasn't enough to make quarters magnetic. I waited for the slight pain to fade, unwilling to try another test until I felt better, and distracted myself with more homework. About half an hour later, I decided to give it a shot. If I could move stainless steel, a poorly magnetic mix of metals at best, then I might be able to move a quarter.

Clearing everything to the side, I placed the quarter squarely in front of me. Hands at my sides, I focused on projecting another magnetic wave at the quarter, it didn't move, repeating the earlier results. I hesitated as another small twinge in my head announced itself.

Was this worth it? I thought about what I was doing. Risking possible brain damage for a power that had a history of knocking me out. Painfully. Risking my safety and what this would do to my dad…

Then I thought what having a power meant I was. About how it made me part of a group of _special_ people. Parahumans. Heroes and Super Villains. Childhood memories of comics and an Alexandria lunchbox.

I shifted to how my bullies plagued me for a year and a half; what I had to look forward to for two and a half more. I thought about the selfishness of other people, about having no friends. Finally, I considered how I had recovered once already. Was this worth it?

I made my decision.

* * *

"Taylor! Taylor! Are you alright?"

I blinked myself awake, and wave off my dad's frantic shaking.

"Huh? Oh hey dad, yeah I'm fine. Just fell asleep. I spent the whole day doing homework."

"Jesus, you scared me for a moment. You didn't answer when I first called you from the doorway."

"Yeah, sorry daddy. I'm just really tired."

"That's okay sweetheart. Do you want to eat dinner or go straight to bed?

"I'll eat something. How'd your meeting go?"

I looked up when he didn't reply immediately. He shuffled through the stack of mail from this morning, adjusting pile of bills. He threw away two, but added three.

"Dad… your meeting?"

"Hmm?"

"Dad, is something wrong?"

"… No Taylor, nothing's wrong. Just had a long day at work. That's all. The meeting didn't go so well, but I guess I'm the only one who expected otherwise."

"That's okay dad, you'll get it next time." I walked over and gave him a hug.

He smiled at me, "Thanks sweetie. Now you go relax, I'll go make dinner."

* * *

As I got ready for bed that night, the pile of bills refused to leave me alone. I snuck downstairs, waiting an hour after I heard the shower turn off. My dad's snoring drifted lightly into the hallway. Making my way downstairs, I stepped on all the quiet boards with the practice of fifteen years in the same house. Reaching the kitchen, I pulled the cupboard door under the sink, sliding out the trashcan. Piecing together the ripped bills from the trash, I laid them down on the table under a beam of moonlight. Arranging them together, I perused the details, my stomach plummeting. Overdue mortgage, overdue property taxes... I walked over to his desk and brought back the others. Insurance bills, a mix of utilities…

Something had happened with work. Dad wouldn't tell me unless he absolutely had to, but the piling bills and how tired he looked… I'd have to pay more attention. I put the bills back on his desk, and poured myself a glass of water.

Scooping up the torn pieces of paper, I dropped them into the trash. Looking down, I adjusted them to cover the bloody tissue paper peaking out underneath.

* * *

A/N I think I have some people's attention now, but I can never be too sure. Read & Review

~Sleep


	5. Interlude 2: Just Economics

Disclaimer: Don't own the playground, but some of the kids are mine.

A/N: Enjoy

~Work

* * *

Danny Hebert took a few seconds to compose himself before he walked into the mayor's office. He'd left for work just after sunrise, Taylor still asleep, and arrived early to prepare for this meeting.

His boss had selected him, him, to present the latest ferry restoration project. The Brockton Bay ferry was the lesser of his hopes, but reclaiming the Boat Graveyard was a pipedream. Still, with the ferry back in operation, the quick transportation from the Docks area to downtown could open up all kinds of employment opportunities for his workers. That wasn't even including the jobs created for the actual restoration and subsequent operation of the two stations. It wouldn't put everyone to work, but it could have a nice impact on the city's growing unemployment.

Quickly going over his notes, glancing at the numbers, Danny wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. The secretary waved him in, and, straightening his tie, he strode into the office, head held high.

* * *

Mayor Christner stood by the window deep in thought. The city sprawled out in front of him; the dark blue bay reflected a slightly overcast sky. He glanced at the empty decanter, a memoir from a previous mayor, and reflected on both his soberness since taking office and the disappointment lingering in the air from the last meeting. In times like this… he needed a drink. Eyes stared blankly out the window, replaying the last hour.

_"Mayor Christner. I'm Danny Hebert, from the Dockworkers Union. I'm here to discuss the ferry project?"_

_"Come in, come in. Have a seat and we can get started"_

_"Thank you." Danny sat in front of the mayor's desk and reached to begin unpacking his presentation from his brief case. Notes, diagrams, maps, reports..._

_"…Excuse me Mr. Hebert," the I interrupted, "what's all this for?"_

_Confused, Danny spoke, "The ferry project? Restoring the ferry the increase transportation between areas of the city?"_

_I sighed heavily. "Mr. Hebe – Danny. There isn't going to be a ferry project. I thought you knew?"_

_A dawning horror appears on his face as he stared at me, paling. "But… that's impossible! I was told we had finally gotten approval to bring this to you."_

_With a heavy heart I shook my head, "I'm sorry Danny. This meeting is about the growing number of dockworkers joining the various gangs around the city. The ferry restoration project was shelved in a meeting last week."_

_"I… see." Taking only an admirably short moment to steady himself, he looks at me. "With all due respect sir, I believe the issues are at least partially related."_

_Intrigued, I motion for him to continue._

_"The Dockworkers Union has not been able to find jobs for our full roster of members for several years now. The unemployment percentage has risen every year, and as a result these workers have nowhere else to turn. Gangs, though dangerous and illegal, offer somewhat steady work that feeds their families. However, I believe if there were simply more jobs–"_

_I have to interrupt, "We all wish there were more jobs in this city Mr. Hebert."_

_"Yes, but starting the ferry again would create jobs. In addition, it would provide a greater range of employment opportunities for the workers downtown. If you would just look at these diagrams…"_

_He passionately delivers a report on the benefits of renewing the ferry service. It has me convinced, but the administration would never agree. Even voters probably wouldn't. It costs too much, and there wouldn't be a real return on those tax-dollars for at least a year. A quick look at him over the report in front of me and I wonder, 'Would someone who cared about the city this much be a better mayor?' Shaking my head, I repeat the inevitable._

_"It looks good Mr. Hebert, but I'm just not sure the city can afford it at this time. I'm sorry."_

_"… Well thank you for your time Mayor Christner. I'll be sure to send you the report on dockworkers and the local gangs."_

Refocusing his eyes, Mayor Christner looked to the docks. This city had stalled when the import/export business had fallen, and only investing in the burgeoning tourist industry kept everything a float. The docks had potential, one only needed to look at the Boardwalk to silence any doubts, but there simply wasn't enough money. Just knocking down the buildings ran into the millions, let alone building new one's afterward.

This didn't include the absolute fiasco with the Boat Graveyard. A huge area of prime seaside real estate abandoned. Shipping boats weighing several thousand tons scuttled. Containers and warehouses holes for gang violence. The city technically owned the land, but a deed meant nothing to the reality of the streets. If anything, it cost the city more money every year. No businesses wanted to buy in and the gangs couldn't do so legally, not that they had any reason to want legal ownership. Better to leave that area alone.

The best thing for the city was to continue coasting. Things weren't bad now, and they could get better with time. There were other areas to put money in with more immediate results. Hospitals, schools… The money from tourism could be reinvested and eventually there would be enough to fix the docks. He looked at the city again, reassuring himself that he made the right decision.

* * *

Walking stiffly into his supervisor's office, Danny stood expectantly, arms crossed and fists tight. His mind over-clocked, with anger nearly bubbling over, he barely held it in as he waited. After standing for several minutes he grit his teeth and asked, "Well?"

"What do you want me to say Danny? That I'm sorry? That I was worried about how you'd react?"

"How about the truth?"

His boss, Mark Amato, walked around his cheap desk and closed the door, then drew the blinds. "Danny, we've been working together for over a decade. You're the head of hiring and HR here, and you're the best spokesman I have. People stay here because of you. When you couldn't go to the ferry meeting last week because of your family issues–" Danny winced at the reminder, but regained himself quickly. "–I had to send Jenkins and Dory. But they couldn't pull it off."

Danny's jaw barely unclenched again, "So you sent me in to fail on purpose?"

"I sent you in because I thought you might have a better chance. I couldn't have you second-guessing yourself. I'm sorry Danny. Things have been tough around here. You know that."

Danny did know. He understood too well the effects of pay cuts, especially multiple ones. His anger fled in a rush that him visibly exhausted. He dropped into the guest chair heavily. "What are we going to do?"

"Honestly Danny? I don't know. We're losing people. Good people in bad circumstances. Three more this week, one each to Empire, ABB, and the Merchants."

"Anyone I know?"

"Not really well; Tong, Carder, and Diner. I'm worried about the next pay cut Danny. We're bleeding money and resources every month. There's just not enough work in the area. The core guys are sticking around; they have faith in something being done to the docks."

"But faith doesn't feed families. I know."

"The way I see it, we might be able to get through January splitting the work. Then we'll have to hope for a rush in spring construction."

"And if we don't get it?"

Mark didn't answer for a few moments, staring at the wall. He turned tired eyes to Danny and said, "Then we've had a good run."

* * *

R&R

~Sleep


	6. Interlude 3: Just Bureaucracy

Disclaimer: Paid a few actors, but didn't buy the theatre. Wilbow owns worm.

Beta: I. Llama

A/N: Some readers have picked up on the plot holes I left open in previous chapters and run away with them. While I do appreciate people pointing them out, and I am considering a possible reformat, I'd like to say that I honestly left a few thing vague so I could write stuff like this chapter. I won't claim all of them were completely intentional, and some reviewers have pointed out some things that I went back and fixed.

The most important changes have to deal with Emma's culpability. This is a HUGE sticking point amongst reviewers, and the more I thought about it the more it started to bother me as well. I realized that Emma couldn't have known that Taylor was still stuck in the first place, let alone overnight. If that's the case then there would be no way for her to know to call Danny the next day. This is a plot hole that I created before I had a beta, and hopefully I can avoid more in the future.

I'm not that familiar with the criminal justice system beyond TV shows, and I made a mistake. I apologize for that, and have done a minor rewrite. The changes are mostly in Interlude 1, with some in Chapter 2 for consistency. Otherwise, I'm moving forward slowly with the story.

My beta and I worked pretty hard to go over the old chapters and try to fix formatting and look for other plot holes. I apologize for the inconvenience this may cause people, and I hope the readers stick around.

~Work

* * *

Principal Blackwell sighed heavily. Dealing with Alan Barnes always exhausted her, but necessary evils always did. Taylor Hebert didn't deserve what happened, nobody could possibly deserve that, and yet things would only get worse. She glanced down at her copy of the public hospital reports, and then shifted them under the precursory police report. Jennifer Blackwell reflected on how covering up incidents had become the norm when it came to these three bullies, specifically Sophia Hess.

The trade-off, a Ward in the school with the most gang-affiliated students, had been worth it in the beginning. Still is worth it, if her current course of action gave any indication. Sophia made the school safer, even a Ward presence at Winslow remained mostly speculation amongst the students. Those rumors, tentatively backed up by fast hero response times from the various local teams, still prevented the ABB and E88 kids from enacting a turf war in her hallways. That alone probably saved more students than all the potential bullying incidents combined.

No, Principal Blackwell knew Sophia was necessary, and despite reports of her bullying, the kids would be happier and, more importantly, alive with her around.

It's for the greater good.

Regaining her resolve, Jennifer finished the walk to the hospital lobby. The detective on scene stood as she entered the room. His built frame nearly blocking half the hallway as he straightened. Steely eyes stared into hers before she walked around him and gestured for him to sit.

"Ma'am. I'm Detective Doakes. I'm here in charge of investigating the crime scene, but a deputy radioed in that you have some more information here at the hospital?"

"Detective Doakes, as you know, I'm Principal Blackwell. To answer your question, yes. Tay-the victim has decided not to press charges."

"Principal Blackwell, with all due respect, that may not be her decision to make. From the evidence we've gathered here and from the hospital reports, the victim could have been stuck in that locker for nearly forty-eight hours."

"I understand that, bu-"

Detective Doakes stood violently from his chair.

"Forty-eight hours! In a biohazardous locker! A teenaged girl trapped for that long in any place is outrageous. In a school? Without mentioning the possible homicide attempt, that's almost grounds for criminal negligence. I intend to get to the bottom of this, regardless of the victim's wishes."

The scope of the situation began to creep up on Jennifer's conscious, before she resolutely pushed it away. The students depended on her, she couldn't let one incident jeopardize their collective safety. After the detective finished she spoke calmly, "I understand Detective Doakes, but there are extenuating circumstances here. You see-"

"There's nothing you can say that'll change my decision. I came here as a courtesy, you should've done the same before you stopped the officer from talking to the victim. Tampering with a witness… no, I'm here to let you know I'll be watching everyone. Including you."

"There's a parahuman involved."

"..." Detective Doakes slowly sat back down.

"I see that I have your attention. Now, I believe I don't have to tell you tha-"

He bit out an interruption, "Parahumans and their crimes fall under the jurisdiction of the Parahuman Response Team and the Protectorate. Yeah, I know."

"Then you know my hands are tied."

The detective stood abruptly, "And, conveniently, I can't do anything here. Goodbye Principal Blackwell." He walked out without waiting for her reply.

Jennifer watched him leave before shuffling together the public copy of the reports and findings Detective Doakes had given to her earlier. She briefly thought back to whether or not she could help more, before she dropped them in the trash. They were pretty much worthless now anyway.

* * *

As he walked bodily down the school's hallways, Detective Doakes pulled the radio from his belt. "Sorry guys, this is another cape scene." Various curses and derogatory statements filled the radio chatter. Letting his men vent, Doakes interjected during a lull, "You know what it means, wrap up the stuff we've touched and leave the rest."

Capes made all of it complicated. Evidence became harder to verify. Identities protected by written and unwritten laws. You couldn't pin fingerprints on someone who could change what they looked like. Hell, you couldn't _find_ fingerprints most of the time. Fucking costumes... That didn't even begin to cover parahumans controlling other people.

By the time he reached the school's front doors, the dispatch on scene, two officers and a CSI unit, had gathered to meet him. He knew his face mirrored the angry and frustrated looks on those surrounding him.

"I know we've already put in hours into this case, but the cape info was just dropped on me. I'm sorry I didn't check into it sooner."

One of the officers stepped forward, "So the usual then? We drop whatever information we have down at the PRT?"

The grimace that crossed Detective Doakes' face was answer enough. The group loaded the CSI van and drove off in squad cars, driving toward the PRT.

The case was out of their hands, but that did nothing to ease their frustrations. Doakes thought about how the case would fall into the backlogs of the PRT. A parahuman bullying case? How completely usual. Maybe they would get around to it in a few months. Parahumans were almost expected to be testing out their powers by acting out. They followed different rules. The chance of the local Protectorate stepping up made Doakes chuckle cynically. The heroes fighting Lung and Kaiser deal with a high school bullying case?

Still, a hospitalized teenaged girl really didn't sit well with him. It didn't sit well with anyone involved in the dispatch. For a moment, fury bubbled up inside of the detective, an urge to break something nearly overwhelmed him. He never felt more impotent than when he dealt with cape cases. So much injustice because there was just no way to verify anything. Capes broke the rules just by existing.

That severity of the case gave Doakes some hope that the PRT would actually get involved. Principal Blackwell hadn't given him any real details, but she didn't have to once the word parahuman came out of her mouth. Maybe there would be real justice this time, but he doubted it. As the small convoy drove toward the PRT headquarters, Doakes thought about the city he worked for, _'Parahumans… For all the good they did, things didn't seem like they'd gotten better.'_

* * *

Jennifer Blackwell finished typing her report to the PRT office. It was short and vague enough that things at Winslow appeared under control. Carefully downplaying the victim, she wrote out a summary that discussed a bullying incident that happened to escalate. A series of unfortunate events that went wrong. More importantly, she highlighted how the victim had declined to press charges.

She topped it off with a note on how the Ward involved in the incident was only loosely connected as a bystander, contingent on gossip from the school's grapevine. In conclusion, she lamented that the situation had gotten so out of hand, but listed a detailed plan to avoid further incidents, beginning with a punishment for the main suspect.

Emma Barnes held the most culpability in this case, but with the potential witnesses on her side… her father would be able to handle any probes that might come her way. The probation to get the Heberts on board wouldn't mean anything substantial unless something happened again. That she was being punished for almost circumstantial involvement should mitigate the situation. Probably not enough to completely dodge an investigation, but adequate so that authorities couldn't accuse the school of negligence.

Only the barest of the details involving Taylor's hospitalization made the report.

The result was a few pages of careful omissions that would explain away most surface concerns.

Things are better this way, it's best to put the ugliness behind, and avoid damaging anyone's reputations. Random interviews amongst the student body had revealed a solid backing for the so-called bullies, and little to no one professing to even knowing Taylor. She hadn't made many complaints since the year started, and this had all the makings of a prank gone wrong. The other girls couldn't possibly have tried to murder Taylor. The heart of the matter was bad time

Especially since none of the staff had stayed late that day. Coldest weather in over a decade? Everyone left in a rush to get home. She would know. The teachers ended classes fifteen minutes early for an impromptu meeting, and they'd all been packed to leave when it ended. She was the last person on campus before she locked up as per usual on Fridays...

No, this had to be an isolated incident.

The distinct lack of evidence worked for Principal Blackwell here, and she felt only a slight twinge of guilt using it. Alan Barnes had explained how the PRT would get the case dismissed or, more likely, buried under paperwork; involving them effectively sidestepped the police. His experience working with New Wave's parahumans had granted him an insight into how to game the system.

Luckily, the rest of the Winslow's faculty and staff, beside the janitor, hadn't been informed yet. Jennifer had room to prevaricate; she could spin the story so they all fell in line. Winslow needed the protection of a Ward on grounds. The extra funding schools received for hosting a Ward also tipped the scales. The staff knew where the money for the new furnishings and equipment had come from.

With the possibility of more Wards and funding in the future, Jennifer Blackwell could build another Arcadia High. That would be worth it; she could do her part for society by helping the children. The ends justified the means, but she would encourage the faculty to watch Taylor more carefully. With more overt evidence, she could lay down more punishments and the teachers could step in to alleviate the bullying.

Satisfied with her plans for the future, Principal Blackwell finished the report and sent the email.

* * *

"Detective Doakes? We've been expecting you. I'm Lieutenant Johnson " The PRT suit waiting at the front entrance moved forward to shake the detective's hand as a crew of what looked like interns moved forward to help unload the evidence.

Doakes spoke gruffly, "That's me. We left the crime scene as soon as we heard a parahuman was involved… I know normal investigations break your protocols."

The lieutenant smiled, "I wouldn't worry too much about it, parahuman bullying cases are common enough. Difficult to deal with too. Luckily, it seems like the parahuman wasn't too involved. The principal also told me that steps had been taken to make sure things don't get out of hand again."

"Out of hand!? Sir, a girl was hospitalized for this. She was trapped in there for almost two days!"

The smile turned sympathetic, "And believe me detective, we will investigate. Cape crimes against normal people are at the top of our priorities."

Doakes felt his frustration beginning to boil again. He walked stiffly back to his squad car, grabbed the reports and handed them to the lieutenant, sharply nodding once. "Take a good look at these before you make your investigations." He stepped back into his car and drove off, the rest of the dispatch following.

Lieutenant Johnson dropped his smile as they left. He quickly looked over the paperwork, noted the hospital details that were missing from the principal's report, and sighed. They couldn't devote resources to this.

As unfair as it was, the Merchants had been stepping up their drug trade. The PRT had to deploy more and more forces since Squealer had apparently gone for quantity rather than quality in her Tinker devices. She outfitted the regular gang members by fixing up junked cars with ugly weapons that shot a few times before they broke down. Useless in the long-term, but while they worked they could pinned down the PRT forces just long enough get away. Preliminary investigations indicated their recent successes had apparently allowed them to build up quite the stash of drugs and money. They'd put in a request for Protectorate Thinkers to verify their findings, and were awaiting confirmation before they planned a full scale operation.

Personally, Lieutenant Johnson thought the Merchants were gearing up for something big. Diverging from their usual tactics, it looked like a burgeoning attempt at expanding Merchant territory; but capes in other gangs stretched Brockton's PRT too thin. Everything was tied up in trying to keep them under control.

Another look at the hospital file and Johnson groaned. She was almost his daughter's age. He signaled the interns and made his way into the PRT case files room. Marking the evidence and the file as non-urgent priority, he placed it ahead of a few other cases. They'd probably get to it when the Merchant situation blew over, but there wasn't anything else he could do. He had already suggested to his superiors that this PRT division could gain so much by cooperating more with local law enforcement. This case, which barely involved a parahuman, still fell under their jurisdiction even if the police could handle it.

Maybe with just a bit of PRT oversight… but in the end, no one was willing to compromise. Not his bosses who wanted the PRT to remain in control of its assets, nor the local police departments who wanted the same. Federal and state laws made the issue of parahuman crimes an ongoing gray area. No civic or municipal authority was going to take on that challenge. Better to err on the side of caution and follow a few too-general laws than to run into some unheard of sanction.

Protocols were in place to protect everyone involved, both normals and capes. Master-Stranger capes meant every parahuman crime had to be vetted by the PRT. Even with known entities, like the Wards in this case, you could never be sure. The government let the best and most experienced people handle the cases. Even if things sometimes turned out like this.

He glanced at the picture in the file again before he closed it: Taylor Hebert.

Lieutenant Johnson walked back to his office and called his daughter.

* * *

A/N: Hate it? Love it? R&R?

~Sleep


	7. Ch 4: Fantasy

Disclaimer: Don't own Worm.

Beta: Inconspicuous L.

A/N: Some good stuff herein. I know the story is moving slowly, and that's on me for trying to do too many things at once. I let things pick up here, and I can promise more action in the very near future.

~Work

* * *

My short breaths came out heavily as I slowed down. Looking down the road, I could just make out the turn onto my street. Not too bad for my first week of jogging. Taking a moment to glance around, I relaxed when nothing interrupted the quiet atmosphere. The sky's dark hues slowly brightened as I let a handful of coins, magnetically stuck under the front of my shirt, fall into my hand. Shiny and a bit sticky with sweat, I still smiled. _Alright, more progress_.

My power had grown over the week as I practiced with it, and my multitasking ability had finally caught up. Coins were the hardest things to move around, but that barely mattered now. Even the prospect school later today didn't dampen my spirits.

After another look around, I walk into a nearby park while floating the coins out of my hand and putting them into a slow orbit around me. With a thought, they accelerated until metallic rings spun around me, whipping the air into a slight hum. I walked toward a shrub to a my left and the coins began obliterating it without slowing down. Broken twigs and shredded leaves fly into the air. After trimming the edges of some bushes, I slow the change to a stop, letting it cool down from any heat the friction may have caused. A faint sting on my hand reminds me of learning that lesson the hard way.

Rubbing the coins between my hands, and then on my sweats, I reached around behind me to lift my shirt with one hand. Arranging them mostly out of sight on my lower back, I let the shirt settle back onto me. I ignored the awkward feeling of metal on skin, and resumed running. My body and power on near-autopilot, I reflected on the progress I'd made. Maybe Arcadia _could_ happen.

* * *

I finished the run back to my house, and I heard my dad getting in the shower as I entered the front door. Completely out of breath, I walked into the kitchen, and float the coins into our household change jar. Another push of my power moves the lever to open the faucet and I pour myself a glass of water.

Using powers for simple things is reassuringly awesome. Especially because of all the work it took to get this far. I thought about when my power didn't come so easily.

Before I turned out the lights Saturday night, a day after my decision to continue pushing the limits of my power, I'd just managed to levitate a quarter with only the slightest headache. Despite the replicating the success on Sunday, I'd made an unhappy discovery.

_While holding up the quarter, I tried pick up another, and I lost control over both of them. The magnetic forces withdrew the moment the second one moved, letting the first quarter fall to the counter. Puzzled, I looked at it again and concentrated. After slowly raising one back into the air, I focused on it as I tried to lift another. I felt the forces wobble unstably for a moment, before it fell again. I started making a note, **Can't Multitask?** before I crossed it out. I'd been moving multiple vectors this whole time. It had to be something else._

_I'd pushed multiple objects with single magnetic projection before, so it couldn't be a limit on the number of things I could move… Maybe it was a limit on fine control? Awareness? Looking down at the quarters, I divided my focus as much as possible, trying to feel the magnetic vectors reach out toward them. They trembled, resisting movement, before slowly rising off the table._

_Then pain. A lancing chisel into my skull, split it open. I moved as if in slow motion to check the wound. My arms barely respond and by the time my hands come away clean, a growing wetness on my face drips onto them. Pain._

_I stumble away from the kitchen counter, somehow keeping the increasing flow of blood on either the notebook or on me. Hands clasping my notebook and my shirt, I barely hold myself up by bumping my sides into the walls as I move toward the bathroom. The front of my yellow-orange top now showcases a bloody sunset._

_All but falling in, I steady myself on the porcelain sink and smear a bloody hand on the light switches. My other hand closes the door. I fumble with the lock, spreading more dark red on the bronze-colored metal._

_The pain blinds everything, and I collapse boneless against the door._

* * *

Everything about my power had to be built up. _Everything_.

For a while I thought I couldn't do anything with my power. I'd be a sitting duck, flinging cutlery one piece at a time with subpar speeds and distances. I demoted myself back to paper clips.

My experiments over the week divulged a growing understanding of my magnetism.

First and foremost, I had to develop it. Each and every part I wanted. More control? Move stuff in intricate patterns. More power? Move heavy stuff. I tried to stay positive, especially since there didn't appear to be an upper limit of what I could do yet, but the gritty reality of what I'd coined as 'overload' grounded me. Pain, exhaustion, and those damn nosebleeds always lurked around the corner. They waited until I found some weakness in my power, like my previous inability to split fine control, and pounced when I tried to develop it. Most of the time I didn't know I had that weakness.

Overloads appeared to come in two types: Overexerting my powers or trying something new with them. The first type seemed to work like a muscle strain; a building pressure that eventually failed, splitting into the usual symptoms. This happened when I tried expanding on elements of my power I already had, like lifting something heavier or trying something more complicated than before. The other appeared without warning: a splitting migraine and flowing nosebleed. Trying to do something new brought this version on. The second type scared me every time, made me wonder if my power put me at a table gambling with death.

The overload on Sunday cost me three hours, at least five minutes with an intermittent bloody nose. I hid in the bathroom to clean myself up. Luckily, my dad had left earlier for another meeting, and I'd managed to wake up and reach the shower upstairs as he got back. Holding a small bundle of bloody clothes, I barely responded loud enough to reassure him that everything was fine. Fear preoccupied me through that night.

The thing is… I always got better. Maybe I woke up with a headache and didn't use my powers for most of the day. Perhaps I did try, and spent a couple class periods in the nurse's office. As sick as I was last week and with the teachers paying extra attention, I had all the excuses I needed. As if exercising some unseen muscle, the more I pushed it, the more my power grew stronger and more complex.

* * *

The first day of school since I'd nearly died, and a few feet into the door stops the nearby conversations. I keep walking, catching some whispers.

"...hospitalized for… days"

"She… too embarrassed"

"...blamed Emma."

"Heard she… herself"

By the time I'd reached my new locker I knew the bullies had fed the rumor mill to full force. Everything from I'd stashed trash in my locker myself to I'd tried to kill myself after confessing to one of them. I tried not to let the words get to me, but they were getting louder. I could nearly hear full sentences now.

"...and then she slit her wrists."

"All the blood was from..."

"She couldn't handle… rejection."

_Focus Taylor. _But there wasn't anything to focus on. I thought I'd be ready for bullying, but the words kept getting louder and louder. The last week alone at home with my books and my dad had lowered my guard too much. Why were they doing this?

Before things could get any worse, I'd reached the new locker assigned by the administration, and as I raised my hand to turn the lock, it started moving before I'd actually touched it. Frozen in shock, I forgot all about the rumors floating around me.

There wasn't any strain from that.

From what I'd learned so far, control over my power depended on projecting magnetic fields from my mind along with some level of attention. After I'd been off drugs, I'd noticed that using my powers at all came with a miniscule strain; the pressure of a finger lightly pushing into my brain. I'd been using the strain as both a notification and a measurement for when and how much of my power I was using. Before, I'd thought that meant I couldn't move anything without using my mind to project my power… except I'd just done it with my hand.

A smile crossed my face and I straightened myself. Reaching up my hand again, I masked using my power by pretending to touch the knob. Running through the combination, it took three tries before I opened the locker to see a scoured clean space.

I'd only walked here out of habit, no matter how clean, it wasn't tempting enough to risk any of my stuff. If the bullies could break in once, they could do it again. Reaching to close the door, I projected my power through my hand again, closing it with magnetic force rather than muscle. Being able to use the rest of my body as a medium… that was something new.

Checking my nose surreptitiously, my hand came away bloodless. No overload either… I smiled. Head up and shoulders back, I walked with the assurance of someone special. I am special.

* * *

I walked upstairs to my room with a smile, shedding my sweaty close as the door closed. Grabbing a small metal deposit box, a quick push of power opened the lock; I'd thrown the keys in a storm drain earlier in the week. I'd decorated the box, covering it with bits of cloth, colored paper, and stickers. Small details to make it look like something from childhood. Inside sat the notebook about my powers. My safety precautions wouldn't stop anyone really persistent, but they were enough for the average person to overlook.

After jotting down the amount of change and the range of orbit, I idly flipped back to Monday night's entry.

**Power can be expressed through the whole body. Next, magnetic fields away from the body?**

Not even a week ago, I believed I needed to see the object to move it, but then that moved onto just touching it. Of course I could move stuff by pushing and pulling blindly, but there wasn't a point of reference for any fine control. Touch let me focus just enough to create a magnetic field through a part of my body, and with that I could stick anything I could move to myself. After the first few attempts, I discovered could last much longer using other parts of my body as the magnetic medium, rather than just using my mind. The oncoming symptoms of overload still happened, they just took longer to set in. Something to think about.

Hearing the shower turn off, I put the journal away and grabbed a towel before jumping inside my bathroom. A quick flex shuts the door and turns the metal shower knobs. Stepping in and letting the lukewarm water cascade down on me, I absent-mindedly considered how I'd adapted to using my powers as they grew…

* * *

The last two days have proved that missing school for a week fertilizes grapevine like nothing else. After the initial shock of what felt like everyone talking about me, I shrugged off the attention. I held out for the inevitable confrontation, but other than the rumors seemed to be it. The bullies were lying low, a combination of final exams and Emma's probation looming over them; probably the former more than the latter.

I only had one final today, chemistry, but it was one of the classes where I'd been academically hamstrung by the bullies earlier this year.

_"That looked like it hurt Taylor! And you ruined your homework too! You should be more careful!" Sophia taunted as she stood over me. The mud puddle she shoved me into drowned my binders._

_"Oops! I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention." Madison deliberately spilling soda over my papers during lunch._

Shaking myself out of the past before the memories got worse, I half-heartedly looked through the exam and filled in what I could. I'll make it up next semester… Looking around, I saw one of the sycophants drop her pen. I couldn't resist, and I pushed the pen a bit further as she reached for it. Once, twice, and... it's out of range. As petty as that was, it brought a smile to my face.

Stifling a giggle, I pretended to stretch, and noticed Sophia was sitting behind me, diagonally left. An extra pen sat on the corner of her desk. Still feeling a giddy rush, I turned back forward tried to pull in the pen's direction… but I only the heard the sounds of hurried writing and the ticking clock. Frowning slightly, I tried again, pulling until I felt a slight twinge. Turning my head, I saw the pen resting in the same spot. The Mr. Nakai coughed, and I quickly faced forward, cheeks flushing.

Frustration and more than a bit of embarrassment stew for a few minutes, before I decide to try a different approach. I extended what felt like a tendril of power in the general direction, trying to stay aware of it...

Mr. Nakai shook me, "Taylor! I think you need to good to the nurses office. You can finish the test later."

Brought back to present, I made to look up at him, confused, when I saw the blood on my paper. Then pain. An infinite number of needles stabbing into my brain.

"Do... someone...help you?"

I barely nodded, and felt a person on either side of me help me up. The needles began slowly injecting liquid fire, with each step toward the nurse initiating another set. By the time I reached the nurses office, I could only lie down and curl up on the bed. I couldn't understand why I was overloading. It felt like forcing myself to suddenly hear scents, taste loudness, smell color, and see pain. Blissfully, I blacked out.

* * *

I shut off the shower and simultaneously float over the coat hanger with towel I brought in. Tying the towel around myself, the door swings open for me as I walk through with a slight bounce. The small things my power could do never failed to make me happy. Picking out a warm blue jacket, a black turtle neck, and black pants, I get dressed. Keys and my new prescription glasses place themselves in my pocket and on my face respectively. Maybe I'm getting a bit lazy… but I rationalized it as exercising a different kind of muscle. Smiling and ready for the day, I glance around my room before I head downstairs.

"Morning Dad!"

He looked up from the stove, where the attempts at french toast looked slightly burnt.

"Morning sweetie, how was your run?"

"Pretty good, I got another couple block further than yesterday," I replied as I stepped next to him and held my hands out.

Dad looked down at the stove, before resignedly handing me the spatula.

"... At least I tried right? My pasta's better..."

I kiss him on the cheek before pushing him away from the stove.

"Sure dad."

With an expression of mock hurt dad slumps down at his desk and starts sorting some papers. I giggle before turning back to breakfast. He finishes reading as I put the final touches on salvaging breakfast.

"Are you sure you should be pushing yourself? You know what happened Wednesday..."

My grip tightens and I nearly drop the toast. Placing them carefully on the plates, I reply, "Dadddddd. I told you! I didn't eat lunch that day to cram for a test I wasn't ready for. One time thing!"

Dad walks back toward me and envelops me in a hug from behind. "I know that's what you said, but nosebleeds don't happen because you're exhausted. At least not to you… I raised you remember?"

I turn around and squeeze him back tighter, pressing my face into his shoulder. A muffled, "I know," escapes before I pull back.

"You don't have to worry. Everything's fine."

His face shapes into something I can't recognize before he pulls me into another tight hug. "Did you change up your route like I told you to?"

Dad pulls back as I nod my head.

"Good, well let's eat."

* * *

I like to think what happened Wednesday completed my powers. Not in terms of strength, but in versatility. I honestly couldn't think of anything else that would put me through another sudden overload…

Waking up to my dad's face, contorted in a mixture of anger and worry, I hardly had time to say I was okay before EMT's walked in with a stretcher. What a mess. Convincing everyone, which included the nurse, my dad, and the two emergency medical technicians, that 'Yes, I was fine,' and 'No, I don't need to go to the hospital' took nearly half an hour. Only passing the various emergency medical tests had calmed everyone down. Although repeating the concussion test three times seemed a bit much to me.

Was it worth the trouble?

My 'magnetic sense' was spherical; centered around my head. Although it only extended to a radius of about five feet at the moment, I could feel everything magnetic in that space. If I could move it, I owned it. It didn't matter if something was behind me, under me, or above me. The radius clearly defined the limits of my control, although I could still launch things out of it if they built enough momentum. All the problems I had before, splitting my focus and attention to control stuff I was moving, they'd all vanished. It was the final piece of the puzzle.

I'd gained a sixth sense.

The shifting movement of the bus door's metal parts alerted me as much as the creaking sound of hydraulics. Sitting at the front meant I avoided the majority of the people on the school bus, and I walked out ahead of everyone. Last day… hopefully in more ways than one.

Hurrying ahead to escape any confrontations, I ignore the whispers that still haven't stopped. Forgoing visiting my locker, I walked through the homeroom doors and sat down in my usual seat. I pulled out my thick _History and Parahumans_ book, began cramming for Mr. Gladly's final. Even if he curried the favor of his popular students, his test counted toward my GPA. Still, his favoritism irked me, and I found myself flipping through the book to skim sections he'd set aside for next semester.

_Chapter 10: Parahumans and the Sciences  
__Parahumans have broken most of the established theories in modern sciences…_

_Chapter 15: Parahuman Healthcare  
__With the rising number of parahumans, demand for healthcare and specialized health insurance has increased to it's highest point…_

_Chapter 18: Parahuman Law  
__Administering parahumans has mostly been covered by the PRT and the Protectorate (Chapter 10, Chapter 4), and entire subsections of law have been…_

_Chapter 13: Historical Responses to Parahuman Threats  
__Since the advent of dangerous parahumans and the disasters known as the Endbringers, governments have worked to find solutions to deal with S-Class Threats…_

The last section I opened to drew my attention. In the glamour of my powers, I'd forgotten about the very real threats in the world. Reading further, I read about the firing of ballistic missiles against a particularly crazy cape who'd been blasting through a small farm towns in Kansas. The attempted nuking at one of Behemoth's early appearances. The bell rang and I headed to computer class. My head spun.

_Would I ever fight one of the Endbringers?_

Caught up in my thoughts, I didn't notice Sophia come up behind me and nudge me into the lockers lining the hallway.

"Watch where you're going loser!" She called over her shoulder as she walked off with a laughing group of followers.

_Well, they couldn't stop forever._ The people around me tried to ignore my stare as I looked around. Even though I didn't expect any different, the collective ambivalence still hurt. I made my way into computer class and pulled out my history book again. Unless that teacher scheduled a final, most classes were free periods.

Flipping back to where I left off, I continued reading.

The government turning to both capes and weapons with less collateral damage. The unwritten but universal Truce between heroes and villains against S-Class monsters. Working with tinkers to develop new and better technology. Finishing the first laser guns and railguns, and then discovering the crushing inability to mass produce it…

Railguns?

Logging onto the computer in front of me, I put in a search for railguns. Electricity, magnets, and a projectile to fire. I stared blankly at basic diagram on the screen. Opposing magnetic currents along two rails with electricity to supercharge them through the projectile. I… I could do all of that. I pulled out a sheet of paper and furiously took notes about railguns, and then later about any other way people had tried to weaponize magnets.

* * *

Sophia watched her walk out of the classroom into the hallway. Hebert. Loser. Victim. They'd left her alone after she whined about being stuck in the locker. Typical of Hebert, complaining when they couldn't retaliate; she never stood up for herself alone. Still, did the stupid bitch think they were going to leave her alone because one of them was on probation? Looking at her, walking as if she doesn't have a care in the world, made Sophia _sick_.

Disgust welling up inside of her, Sophia only stopped herself from striking out by remembering the plan. Indignant anger at being under scrutiny by the teachers for the week had almost boiled over. She couldn't help the small push earlier; had to remind the victim just who was around and where she belonged. The strong stand above the weak, and Taylor would have to learn to acknowledge that.

She should've known there would be consequences.

Stepping forward Sophia walked up while tamping down on her anger. She called out loud enough for everyone to turn toward her, "Hey Hebert, I think I found something of yours."

Anger cooled into satisfaction as the weakling looked shocked, then started reaching forward for the thin black box. Emma had really come through this time. "Yeah I saw this in the stuff the janitor was clearing out in the music room. It's yours right? It has your last name on it."

How delicious, the her hands are shaking! Sophia pulled back at the last moment. "Uh, uh. Where are your manners? I want you to thank me first." A smile crosses her face as she waits.

"... thank you Sophia."

"No problem!" She handed over the box and stepped back.

She's opening it so slow… and now time for the trap.

"Where is it?" How cute, her emotions are all over her face, she might actually be mad!

Still smiling, Sophia simpered, "I don't know what you're talking about. I just found that and thought it was yours." She knew this had cornered her; she couldn't run now. There was only moments before Taylor broke down.

"This isn't fucking funny. Where is it?" Pretending to fight back? Let's see how far we can take this.

"Honestly, I don't know what you mean." Just push her a bit more...

"Where is my mother's flute Sophia?" She can barely speak! Closer...

"Ohhhhh! Why didn't you say so? Still, I don't know. Maybe you should check the dumpsters behind school. That's where the rest of the stuff was going." Hebert's shoulders draw together. Are those tears in her eyes? A smile full of teeth crosses Sophia's face. It knows it's nothing again… but why leave it just at that?

Sophia leaned in closer to whisper, "If you ask me, that's where it belongs. The trash, along with the rest of your family." Taylor was shaking now, are her fists clenched? Sophia waited, a last chance for her to be proven wrong. When nothing happened she sneered. Impotent. Broken.

Turning around, there's nothing to fear from prey, Sophia walked away, replaying the scene in her mind. Such a shame Emma couldn't be here like they'd originally planned, the probation really got in the way of that. Oh well, she'd just have to give her _all_ the details.

* * *

Taylor opened the box with trembling hands, her mother's flute that had been stolen at school last year. Emma had taken it, she was the only one who knew the significance. One of the last things she had left of her mother. Taylor had carried it to school after days the bullying had been really bad. It had gone missing when she left class to use the bathroom, and she couldn't prove anything.

And the box was empty.

Taylor froze inside.

_"This isn't fucking funny. Where is it?"_

Her keys began vibrating in her pocket. It would be so damn easy to tear Sophia apart. Her power's radius was big enough, she was close enough. The image of orbiting coins decimating a bush came to mind.

_"Where is my mother's flute Sophia?"_

She felt her power reaching out toward the metal around her. Lockers, cell phones, pens, coins… all of it weapons.

_"... the dumpsters behind school… If you ask me, that's where it belongs. The trash, along with the rest of your family."_

As Sophia walked away, and my body flexed so tightly I could barely move. Anger: that fucking bitch! Rationality: hurting normals was a one way trip to jail. Sadness: her mother's flute still gone. Her bullies had won again. Deflating, Taylor looked around and people were smiling, pointing and laughing. Numbness settled over her, and she grabbed her stuff and left.

* * *

Finally making it home, I dropping off my things and write my dad a note.

Dad,

Had a bad day. Not hurt, but going on a run to vent.

Love,

Taylor

Changing into running clothes, I lock the door and take off in the general direction of the Bay.

_This isn't fair._

The thought plays through my head as a broken record.

I stop at the next bus stop, too exhausted to make it all the way on foot. The bus drops me off near the Market and I start aimlessly jogging again, absently waving back at people I can't focus on. I don't know how long I run before my feet take me into the Boat Graveyard. With only decrepit ships and the sounds of the ocean as company, I stop between two fractured hulls taller than my school and next to a pile of rusted parts.

"Are you fucking kidding me...?"

My fist stings as it rests against the hull.

"What the fuck!"

Magnetic forces lash out and my next punch dents the metal. All the bottled and buried rage at everything explodes outward. Hysterical screams echo in the air. I'm flinging metal parts as hard and far as I can. Kicking and punching the air, the boats, the ground. This powerlessness, this unfairness, this fucking life. The monster in my chest rampages, bending or breaking everything I can in a circle around me. I hit and scream until my voice is raw, my hands bloody, and my body bruised. It's still not enough.

I don't know how long I was lying on the ground, but I came-to there. Alone in the middle of my destruction, staring up at sunset streaked sky. Listlessness pins me to the ground. In the numb haze, my thoughts turned back toward escape. My powers, Arcadia High, the Wards. Being a hero...

Heroes saved people. They're good people, willing to put themselves out there for everyone, especially strangers. People respected heroes for keeping them safe; for using parahuman powers for good.

I couldn't say I'd be the bigger person and save Sophia from gun point. I couldn't see myself putting my life at risk for any of the people in Winslow. Heroes are paragons that do the right thing. Even when it costs them the most.

_…I don't want to be a hero…_

All the people who stood around and let things just happen... Perhaps if things had been different. If I didn't almost die while people stood around and laughed. If people actually seemed like they gave a damn… if that were the case then I could consider being a hero. Maybe I could be convinced that people are worth saving. But after today? After the past year?

_People are selfish._

I'm selfish. If Wards weren't the only way I could get away from the bullies, get into Arcadia… I wouldn't join. I watched the sky darken, letting my mind wander a bit longer, before I had to return to reality.

I knew why I wanted to go, but what else could get me into Arcadia? As my mind prodded at the dilemma, I recalled the conversation with Principal Blackwell at the hospital...

Proof. She said I needed proof for her to do anything. Well if the school was so concerned about covering up for its image, I'd find something _damning_. Plan B, let's find out how valuable their reputations are. Arcadia _would _happen.

Slowly sitting up, I gingerly stand and walk to the water's edge to clean up. I scrub my hands, wincing at the salt water, before clearing away the blood on my face. After taking a look at my clothes, I rub some wet sand onto them; don't want to walk around looking like I'd been attacked. As I make my way out of the Boat Graveyard, I stop to glance back. The scene puts a smile of grim satisfaction on my face before I continue on my way.

Behind me, parts of two old ship hulls resembled crinkled aluminum foil, caved inward.

* * *

A/N: I'm very impressed by authors who write 10k+ words per chapter. Even more so by those that do that and write FAST. I hope everyone enjoyed this. More fun stuff to come.

~Sleep


	8. Ch 5: Arrogance

Beta: I.L.

AN: Reviews have been a pretty mixed bag, though generally positive. Real life has been busy so this chapter was a bit later than normal. I tried to make it longer than normal to make up for it.

Enjoy!

~Work

* * *

Walking around the mall, everything served as a constant reminder of Dad's strained face as he handed me cash for holiday shopping. His face warrin between pride and sadness when I gave most of it back. I didn't even plan to buy anything here and I still felt guilty.

If we had more money, everything would be simpler.

For one, I wouldn't be having such a hard time finding a way to catch the bullies in the act; but that was me being selfish. Every solid plan required a good chunk of money. I didn't even own a cell phone… but my individual problems weren't the issue.

More importantly, with money Dad wouldn't be dodging the subject whenever the bills came up.

We wouldn't be self-conscious about making groceries stretch further than ever.

And Christmas shopping wouldn't be so painful.

My dad had definitely accomplished his goal of keeping our money problem hidden from me. Up until the locker incident, I'd only noticed a growing stack of unpaid bills. But when he'd caved so easily to me, accepting the school's offer to pay my hospital bills and his missing salary, I knew our financial situation had dipped to post funeral levels.

At least those past experiences prepared me for dealing with our current problems.

Window-shopping was almost agonizing now. Even if I rarely bought something in the past, I at least had that option. I'd never been particular fashionable, but I couldn't deny that I enjoyed shopping. That pair of patent black flats on display or those dark navy denim jeans on the mannequin in the window… I knew I'd never star on a billboard, but I could at least dress up my positive features… Looking away from the shop window and down at myself, I attempted to bolster my self-esteem by emphasizing my slender body and long legs. My traitorous thoughts turned to my almost nonexistent breasts and barely-there hips.

I could still grow some more! My mom could've been a late bloomer…

_Her_ voice cuts through my body image introspection.

"Somehow, I don't think you can afford that."

Of course Emma was here. I watch her walk toward me in the window's reflection, a gaggle of hanger-ons tittering behind her, meanwhile I lost my last bit of motivation to window shop. Time to leave; I couldn't buy anything anyway.

"No, you definitely can't, not with the way you usually dress," she spoke as if she was announcing the weather: confident and nonchalant.

I wanted a confrontation with my former best friend like I wanted to be shoved back into that locker. Without acknowledging her, I turned and began walking away.

Unsurprisingly, she followed, "What's the matter? Can't stay and chat with an old friend?"

Heading for the escalator down to the main floor, I kept ignoring her without breaking stride.

She stopped at the top of the moving stairway and called out just loud enough for me to hear as I start descending. "You should've died in there you know. You're really not worth anything to anyone."

I turn to look only after I've stepped off the bottom of the escalator. Emma glares at me from the top. Narrowed eyes and pursed lips condemn my lackluster response to her taunting, but I visibly shrug and move toward the main entrance. She looked pretty mad, but if she expected me to make a scene in public… well I didn't care to oblige.

Ever since my decision to catch the bullies in the act, a sense of detachment had descended over me. Granted, the first weekend of winter break was a tad early to declare a new mental state, and yet things _had_ changed. Seeing Emma here at the mall startled me, but her words just didn't carry the same piercing quality that they had before.

Before, she had been the surgeon's scalpel among my bullies, leveraging my past with an emotionally crippling precision. In moments like these, I wondered if she'd lost her touch; maybe even run out of ammo?

Although, feeling the weight of her jewelry, a matching necklace and earrings that I'd never be able to afford, with my power made dealing with her easier. I knew I could shut her up, brutally even. I'm _better_ than her, and my power only reinforced that.

Either way, I'd grown accustomed to it.

She'd tossed away years of closeness and shared secrets, brushed me aside like garbage. But I now felt beyond anger and despair when I thought about her now. Stuck in that locker, I believe parts of me _died_. Including my hopes of reconciliation.

I'd accepted that they would harass me; all of my half-formed plans even counted on them continuing. If things panned out, she would no longer be part of my life anyway. I'd use them as a means to an end.

They weren't worth any more than that.

Shaking off the mildly unpleasant encounter, I exited the mall and began the long walk toward the Market. Bargain hunting it is.

* * *

A bead of sweat dripped down my face as I strove to ignore the dull ache in my head. _Just one more try. One more and I'm done._ I'd been attempting this exercise all morning, and had only just started making any progress. _Come on Taylor, you can do this._ Looking at the car in front of me, I concentrated and carefully pushed.

The car stood still in the moonlight, the metallic paint reflecting in smooth curves. With a slight creak it began rolling away from me, and when it reached the edge of my range I began slowly pulling it back my way. Ten feet... seven feet… three… done. Exhausted but satisfied, I sat down on the curb after parking the car in its original spot.

Building up the strength and finesse to roll cars around had been an interesting exercise. The trick lied in manipulating the car's gears into neutral or reverse, and maintaining speed while moving the car as a whole. I'd accidentally dented a few bumpers with my lackluster control, but I always ran away before anyone noticed. The damage wasn't that bad, and I tried to stick to cars that already looked dinged up. Practicing late at night or in the early mornings helped too.

I kept to a routine of running at least once a day, usually at odd hours to free up more time. I still wasn't sure if my Plan B would work out, so I decided to continue getting in better shape just in case I had to resort to joining the Wards. All the heroes I'd seen on TV looked in shape, so it could only help. Plus, the runs gave me opportunities to flex my magnetic muscles in a variety of exercises, like I just did. I made up random activities to test myself, and although levitating a car was still beyond my current strength, I felt my powers getting stronger every day.

Training with my powers gave me a sense of pride more than anything. From what I'd read online, parahumans didn't really have to develop their powers to the same extent I did. Sure, they experimented and found new ways to use what they had, but none had the same growth curve I continued to experience. After every training session I put myself through, I felt accomplished. The experiments and experience endowed me with a growing understanding of my ever increasing limits. For all intents and purposes, I_ earned_ my powers.

Feeling a second wind, I stood up and reached out to the car again.

I wanted to be stronger.

* * *

Seeing the lights on inside, I forwent my powers and instead used my keys to unlock the front door. I called out over my my shoulder as I juggled my bags and keys to shut the door behind me.

"Hey dad! I'm back from shopping! I found the perfect gift for you, but no peeking!"

When he didn't reply, I set my things down and turned around. Sitting at his desk, Dad rested his head on his right fist, and pinched between his eyes with his left. I walked up behind him and put my hand on his shoulder.

"Dad?"

He startled a bit before turning around in his chair.

"Taylor. Sorry, I didn't hear you come in."

I couldn't let him dodge the questions any more. I had to know how bad things actually were.

"Dad…"

"Listen…"

We speak at the same time, smile a bit at our awkwardness, and he gestures for me to go first. I square my shoulders and take a deep breath.

"Dad, I think you need to tell me what's going on. Honestly, how bad are our money problems?."

He sighs heavily and leans back into his chair. Silence reigns, and just as I'm about to say something, he stands up. Dad turns his chair around, and motions to the dining room chair closest to his desk. I take a seat, my relief at finally confronting my dad being subsumed by anxiety over his seriousness.

"You're right Taylor; you deserve to know the truth."

He pauses again and furrows his brow, staring far off behind me. I sit quietly, unwilling to disturb his thoughts, and wait with a sinking feeling in my stomach.

"We're in pretty serious trouble. My job isn't paying what it used to, and it's starting to look like we might have to sell the house. It depends on the next few months, and I don't know if things..."

_"...we might have to sell the house…"_ The words play over and over in my head, drowning out everything else. My stomach plummets and my pulse pounds in my ears. We can't sell this house. It's one of the only things I have left. All the good memories are here.

Mom was here.

"... the spring construction rush. The gangs in the area have really hurt the Docks, and we have to be prepared for anything. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, I just didn't want you to worry."

I reply stonefaced, "We can't sell the house."

Dad flinches, but I won't back down. I can't. Not on this.

He frowns empathetically and reaches forward to grasp my hands.

"Taylor… I know that it's tough, and I'm doing all I can. I don't _want_ to sell the house, but we might not have a choice. I promise it'll be a last resort."

I grip his hands tightly and start babbling, anything to get rid of the ugly monster clawing inside my chest.

"Dad, please don't sell the house. I'll do anything. I'll stop spending money and you can keep my allowance. I can get a job and give you everything I earn. There has to be a way!"

He gives me a pained smile and reaches up to brush away a tear that had escaped my notice. I sniff and rub my eyes with the back of my hand.

"Sure, we can look for a job for you tomorrow."

I smile weakly at him, "Thanks Daddy."

As he shooed me off to clean up before dinner, the smile dropped from my face. I wanted to curl up into a ball hide; but that wouldn't change anything. I focus on splashing water on my face and scrubbing lightly. Turning off the sink with my power, I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. Ignoring the red eyes and dripping water, my face hardens and I steel my resolve. I dry my face off and compose myself before returning to the kitchen.

I'd look for a job tomorrow, but there were other options.

* * *

Railguns are deceptively simple.

The actual science and details were hard, but the basic concepts were easy. Two electrically generated magnetic fields circulating in opposing clockwise/counter-clockwise directions along two rails propel a projectile forward at tremendous speeds. Mach five or faster.

I pinned my notes to the side of a rusted hull with magnetized binder clips. The diagrams I'd printed in the library showed various basic designs, along with more scientific details of the Lorentz force and power requirements. Giving them another glance over, I nervously procrastinated actually testing out the concept. I'd studied the science during most of the free time I couldn't spend training.

I could make magnetic fields in an instant, so theoretically I skipped the electricity step. Without having to use an electrical power source or an armature, my railguns could have unprecedented versatility. Anything I could magnetize could become a ranged weapon. My weapon.

In a brief moment of giddiness, I pictured firing a street light at railgun speeds into Winslow's front doors. Oh the destruction… As the smoke and debris cleared in my mind, I shook my head and tried to wipe the smile from my face. It'd be a waste of a street light anyway...

I looked at the diagrams again, paying more attention to how the magnetic fields were supposed to be lined up. Although, making fields independent from my body still posed a minor challenge, I didn't need them for this experiment.

Mentally readying myself, I reached into my pockets. I put on a pair of cheap goggles just in case; they wouldn't save me if I accidentally shot myself, but it was the gesture that counted. Holding up coin between my right index finger and thumb, I paused before putting it back in my pocket.

No sense in wasting money, even if it was just a quarter.

A metal washer floated onto my palm instead.

I concentrated on creating the spinning magnetic fields around the same two fingers on my left hand. My magnetic sense allowed me to perceive the forces in a way that was difficult to explain. The best description was a mix of touch and sight. Objects were highlighted by their magnetic potential, and it was like an overlying transparent grayscale blotches on top of my normal sight; though it only extended within a twelve feet radial sphere. My magnetic fields felt like gleaming weights. The stronger the field, the 'heavier' and 'shinier' it was, except I wasn't lifting or seeing anything; those were just the closest sensation to how it really feels. Trying to explain it was like trying to explain to a blind person what red looked like. Some things you can't really put into words.

Feeling ready, I floated the washer in place between my two fingers.

Okay, this was it. Gory images of blowing my fingers off started creeping into my mind. I wouldn't be able to hide that from anyone. Even my dad. I shook my head and before I could continue second guessing myself, magnetized my digits.

The metal shot forward.

About four feet.

Staring at the washer in front of me, I choked out a laugh of relief and irritation. I guess the fields needed to be stronger. Walking forward and picking up the washer, I stood forward and prepared myself again.

Wait. Why didn't I just hold two metal rods or something…?

I wanted to smack myself in the head, but at least I didn't get hurt. Aiming the washer again, I pointed back toward the ocean. Stronger fields… I projected enough force to push an SUV into each finger.

The metal disappeared into the distance, glinting briefly before it fell into the water.

"YES!"

I pumped my fist into the air exuberantly.

Pulling a small piece of scrap to me, this time I aimed at an old container several yards away and fired.

The impact sounded promising; but when I walked forward to investigate, the container didn't show that much damage. A real railgun shot should've punctured the metal or crumpled it inward. Puzzled, I grab another washer from the floor a few feet behind me, and fired at the container at an angle. The projectile ricocheted off the container with a loud ping, but again minimal damage.

It had to be a power issue. Military railguns could require a million amps, depending on the size of the projectile. I didn't have the technology to measure the magnitude of my magnetic output, but I could maybe squeeze out only a bit more force. Not enough to make a difference, especially since I felt a headache building. Apparently I didn't quite have the juice yet.

I grabbed my papers and sorted them together before folding the stack into my pocket. The sky had started to darken, and I guessed I had about half an hour before dad would get home. Reaching out with my power, I piled together the scrap that I'd scattered around during my training, arranging it to hide my presence. Surveying the area, I nodded with satisfaction before I began jogging back to the nearest bus stop.

My powers didn't measure up now, but some day they would.

Besides…

The other experiments worked.

* * *

Christmas passed with my dad and I both doing our best to get into the holiday spirit.

We didn't talk about our money problems, his job and my failure to find one, or my school problems. I still hadn't told him about my plans regarding my bullies, let alone my desire to transfer to Arcadia.

Instead, hot chocolate and gift wrap commandeered the holiday. We stopped by the Dockworkers Union office for the annual Christmas Eve party, and I caught up with a few workers I hadn't seen since my mom died. Although the small reunions were bittersweet, I still had a lot of fun. Tinsel and mistletoe all over the walls and doorways contributed to the festive atmosphere, but not nearly as much as the raucous partying dockworkers. My dad definitely had fun if the way everyone pushed him to participate in the various games was any indication. Watching him laugh and relax was one of my better presents.

Lacey even snuck me a bit of the 'adult' eggnog.

Dad and I took a cab home that night, and for once I got to tuck him into bed.

Shaking my head at that night's shenanigans, I got off the bus at the corner where the Boardwalk began, and walked into the Docks. The sun had just set, and the yellow streetlights cast strange shadows over everything. I didn't want to take too long or dad would start worrying at home.

About a block in, I ducked into an alleyway and took off my backpack behind a dumpster. Relaxing my power, I nearly fell as the full thirty pounds of weighted clothing I had on suddenly sagged. The weighted vest, armbands, and ankle bands, all with metal weights of course, underneath my sweats and hoodie were usually negligible under my power, and having to constantly devote some attention to them helped build up my multitasking ability, among other things.

Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a black climbing harness, great for all the pockets and metal hooks. Clipping the weighted vest securely to the harness, I fit the next few things into the pockets. Some change, pepper spray from Dad, a small flashlight, bandages, and some generic disinfectant. The last item was the cheapest disposable cell phone I could find. It'd still been too expensive, but too useful in case of an emergency.

My costume really wasn't flashy, and if anything, I tried to make it seem like it wasn't one at all. The climbing harness almost disappeared under the extra large hoodie I wore, otherwise I looked normal in my dark grey hood and black sweats. Well… maybe a little shady, but overall nothing out of the ordinary. It would be the black ski mask that might out me as a cape. Or an old-school bank robber.

The most important thing was that everything came inconspicuously from local stores, and there wasn't a paper trail. Cash up front for everything. The weights worked sort of like armor too, though I didn't wear any from mid-stomach down, and, as a last resort, a pretty effective weapon. I could pull the metal weights right out of their slots and send them flying. Hopefully there wouldn't be any confrontation, especially since I wasn't out to fight crime or anything like that.

Tying my hair into a low ponytail, I pulled down my black ski mask. Despite the risk and inconvenience, I still couldn't bear to cut my hair short.

My new black running shoes finished the outfit. No visible hints of having any kind of magnetic power, and barely any of being a cape. The last thing I wanted was anyone identifying me later on. I pulled my hood up. Ready to go.

If I'd decided to be a real cape, I would've done something more like armor. I could magnetize away most of the weight, so mobility wouldn't be an issue at all. Even now, with my magnetic powers lightening the load, my current outfit didn't weigh anything. Armor would've offered more protection; armor would've been cool.

It would also have been that much more obvious. I wasn't trying to announce myself as a cape to any part of Brockton Bay, and I didn't have the time or materials to make it anyway.

Pushing away the what-ifs, I steadied myself before pushing off the ground, floating out of the alleyway onto the nearby roof. The weights on my arms and legs help steady me so I don't flail around while defying gravity. Even if I still had problems with endurance and moving fast, a wide smile cracks my face as I land gently. Flight would never get old.

I begin canvassing the neighborhood while my thoughts idly returned to Boxing Day, three days ago.

* * *

"Come back here you fucking junkies!"

I should've kept to my normal routes, but no, I just had to change things up and run by the Docks. To be fair, it was only a couple blocks closer than I normally ran. Plus, what the hell would the gangs be doing up _this_ early?

As the sky's hues paled with the sunrise approaching, I briefly considered running, before something shaped like a car rolled into my magnetic sense ten feet behind me. I quickly spun around and didn't see anything, but I definitely felt something. The vehicle stopped at the mouth of the T-intersection I'd just passed. The dimensions felt about the size of a sedan, but internally it was infinitely more complicated than any other machine I'd inspected.

I didn't have Tinker powers, but being able to sense and manipulate the inner workings of most things metal meant I was quickly acquiring an intimate understanding of how mechanical things worked. Physical locks weren't even obstacles any more, and I'd picked up some basics about automobiles so I could use them for practice.

Even if I could go through trial and error, I didn't want to break people's cars every time.

This thing in front of me wasn't a car. Sure, it had four wheels, a frame, and an engine, but that's where the similarities ended. What felt like the unholy love child of a microwave and a vacuum cleaner sprawled from the trunk to the hood, acting as the roof.

Tubes and wiring draped all over the car, and I stood there gaping. On one hand, that was an ugly machine, and on the other, it was freaking_ invisible_.

Loud panting interrupted my thoughts, and I scrambled off the sidewalk to get behind one of the other cars on the street. Two skinheads ran out of the side street right past the car. Well… one ran out. The other stumbled, his shaved head emphasizing a certain roundness, alongside multiple chins and a large gut. He caught up to his friend and immediately hunched over, hands somehow reaching his knees.

Crouching out of sight, I listened.

"Did…" _pant_ "… we get them?"

The other voice barely sounded winded when he spoke. "No, we didn't. They got away again." His voice sounded calm.

The fat skinhead, didn't hold the same compunctions, and he cursed unintelligibly as he fought to catch his breath. After a minute of loud breathing, his next words immediately grabbed my attention away from planning my escape.

"That Tinker bitch! Fuck man, how the hell are we supposed to fight these junkies? Those fucking cars either blow us up or turn fucking invisible. I mean-"

With what sounded like a well-practiced reply, the other voice interrupted, "Calm down Matt, finish catching your breath."

"No! I want to know what our fucking capes are gonna do about this bullshit. I mean seriously, they have us running after shit we can't even see!"

Or hear. The Tinker vehicle sat barely five feet to their right, and I could sense the engine running.

"We've been over this before: the higher ups know what they're doing. They'll figure out how to beat the Merchants, and then we can all get back to talking about the mission."

His disinterested tone caught my attention, and I pushed up to peak through the car windows. The other skinhead stood tall next to his fat buddy, who had decided to sit down in between him and the car I hid behind. He wore an unzipped jacket with a white tank top underneath, displaying a built physique. A big black swastika marred his body, peaking through over his heart.

He offered a hand to his friend. "Come on, let's get back to base. We can get in some practice before we crash"

Matt groaned, "Awww man. You know I'm not good at any of that physical stuff. I don't even know how you pick up that shit so fast. Sometimes I think you're cape."

A brief pause hung in the air before the other skinhead laughed it off.

"Nah, you know I wouldn't even know what to do with powers. Come on, let's go see if any of the girls are awake yet."

As Matt laughed and clasped his friend's hand, I felt movement inside the tinker machine. The Merchants had weapons: what felt like knives and a gun sat in the backseat. The passenger had the knife, but the gun sat still. No, it was shifting slightly, probably underneath something. The skinheads had turned around were walking back toward the alley.

"You just want to go back and chat up Natalie. I know you man."

The gun was moving toward the front of the car now. My pulse pounding in my ears almost drowned out the next few words.

"So when are you going to set me up with someone?"

I don't know them, they're just Empire thugs, I should just leave.

The car shattered into view as I reached out and turned off the ignition. Everyone froze. Only a brief sputtering cough from the various tubes broke the silence as the Merchant and E88 thugs stared at each other.

"Shit! They were right here! Let's get em Victor!"

"Watch out! He's got a gun!"

The newly named Victor ran forward and kicked the driver's door closed as man inside tried to open it, causing the gun to go off into the car's roof when the door knocked the driver back. In the midst of their fight, I jolt the firearm out of his hand and into the backseat. Seeing him unarmed, Victor tried to force the door open, as the driver tried to pull out his knife.

The other Merchant, decked out in ragged clothes, had gotten out of the machine with a knife. Matt was fending him off with a trashcan lid, blocking the wild swipes.

He called out after the Merchant nicked his arm, "I need some fucking help here!" Another swing caused him to jump back swearing, "I'll fucking get you, you fucking junkie!"

Victor let out a frustrated grunt, punctuated by kicking the door again, and ran around to help his buddy. He shed his jacket, and looked like he was preparing for some sort of knife-disarming move you only saw on TV. The outnumbered druggie retreated slowly with periodic lunges to keep the skinheads at distance.

Meanwhile, I'd moved the gun snuggly under the front seat, and the driver had just given up looking for it. Not sure why I bothered when they had knives, but I didn't want to get hit by a stray bullet.

Pulling his knife, the thug then reached into the back seat and grabbed a ragged black duffel bag. He jumped out and slung the bag over his shoulder.

"Johnny! I've got the drugs! Let's get the fuck out of here!"

He took off into the alley way and the other three paused, before Victor ran after him. He called out over his shoulder to Matt.

"You keep him busy, but stay with the car!"

Matt nodded without turning away from the other Merchant.

"Just you and me druggie scum."

They circled each other and Johnny made a few lunges with his knife before giving it up as a lost cause and running away. Matt chased after him down the road and called after him, "That's right! Run you little bitch! Tell em this is Empire turf!"

I'd been watching everything like it was some sort of soap opera, but now that things were dying down, I quickly returned to reality. I could leave now, my good deed done for the day. None of them would even know I'd been watching.

But an invisible car in the hands of the Empire… well I _did_ save their lives...

As he turned to walk back, I used my power to shut the driver's door and restarted the car. Just as suddenly as it appeared, the contraption vanished from view. Steering it to take a left, I moved it next to me before opening it and jumping in. This would be my first time driving, but I'd practiced moving cars enough.

"FUCK NO! That's ours you bi-"

The sound cuts off as I shut the door, and another flex of my powers has me rolling down the street. I don't know why I stole it, probably because I didn't want the Empire to have it, but I'm laughing loudly now. _I have an invisible car._

* * *

I _had_ and invisible car.

Driving a block and a half away from my heist, I pulled into another alleyway as the car started to sputter. Thankfully, it was early enough that the street was empty, and I shuddered thinking about how bad a wreck with an invisible car would've been. As the adrenaline rush died down, I stepped out and took the chance to inspect my dying car.

From my mediocre experience and research, nothing felt wrong from the mechanical perspective, and the gas gauge was still half full…

It had to be the Tinker parts, except I didn't even know where to start!

Before I tried to mess around, and probably blow myself up if what the skinheads said earlier was true, the jumble of technology sitting on the car coughed weakly once more, and then started smoking. The sparks shooting off it also weren't promising… and now it's starting to catch fire.

Well it was fun while it lasted.

I levitate the gun out of the slightly smoldering vehicle, no sense in having live rounds in a fire, and popped open the trunk to investigate what my magnetic sense told me was there. Another black duffel bag, same as the one the Merchant grabbed earlier, sat inside innocently. With shaking hands I unzipped it.

Money and drugs. More drugs than money, but still more cash than I'd ever seen in person… though that really isn't saying much.

_I could take all of this..._

But it was drug money. Possibly even blood money.

Before I could ponder the morality of taking the cash, Tinker machine burst into flames and I jumped back. I moved forward to grab the bags, but a burst of flame nearly set me on fire. The contents of the bag caught fire and started to burn.

Taking a moment to consider my options, the realization that I was standing next to a soon-to-be flaming wreck, trunk filled with drugs and money, and a gun in my hand almost made me laugh at the absurdity of the situation. This was the furthest thing from my mind when I woke up to run this morning. I just wanted to watch the sunrise over the bay... Shaking myself out of that brief tangent, I had to do something before someone came to investigate the fire. I reached toward the money with my powers.

Most people don't know, but almost all United States' printed currency is magnetic. As part of the anti-counterfeit measures, a thin magnetic strip is placed in each bill. In addition, the government uses magnetic ink to print the bills. Taken together, they aren't enough to really affect anything electronic, but enough to make counterfeiting more expensive and inconvenient.

A mess of loose bills begin flying out of the trunk toward me; the merchant's clearly hadn't sorted the cash well. I move it to the ground behind me, while straining my concentration to maintain a strong magnetic pull while diverting the occasional burning banknote. As the seconds pass, I'm getting fewer intact and a growing migraine trying to separate the increasing amount on fire. This was fine control on a different level, but I _had_ gotten stronger.

After a few minutes, the entire car went up in flames. I didn't stop to count the bills, and just stuffed them into my pockets. Never thought I'd be happy that it was winter, but the light hoodie I was wearing to jog had a big pocket. Next, I carefully ejected the gun's clip and tossed the weapon into the fire. I'd have to figure some other way to get rid of the bullets.

Making sure everything was secure, I walked to the edge of the alley and looked around. Seeing no one, the beginnings of exhilaration flow through me as I resumed jogging, this time headed back home.

* * *

Fifteen hundred dollars. Junkies apparently don't pay their dealers with hundred dollar bills. Still… _fifteen hundred dollars!_

I flung the largest stacks of bills into the air. They floated almost lazily around my room, a few flying in chaotic patterns as I sent bursts of my power around me. I barely noticed I was laughing. I pulled the money in the air into a different shapes and sent them chasing after each other around my room. I briefly thought about learning origami before dismissing the thought and gathering the bills together.

I set everything into the safety deposit box with my journal. Now I just needed a way to give this money to my dad.

_Hey Dad! I just robbed some Merchants while they were fighting the Empire!_

Snorting at my stray thoughts, I sobered up at how little this money meant in the larger scheme of things. Sure it wasn't chump change, but it would maybe cover our overdue bills. Dad's job hadn't changed, and the house would still be at risk. No, this much cash would be a band-aid on a missing leg.

Looking down at the stacks of money, I thought about getting fifteen hundred dollars in less than ten minutes. I didn't want to be a villain, but I wasn't sure I could make money any other way. My job search had turned up empty, part-time high schoolers weren't in high demand during the middle of the holiday season. Plus, anything I did make at some job wouldn't be enough to make a difference!

If I considered joining the Wards… well there wasn't much down that path either. Sure, the program granted the junior heroes with a stipend and a college fund, but the details weren't even clear how much. The PRT and Protectorate run heroes definitely didn't advertise how their parahumans were compensated. It was a moot point anyway: the Wards' money was put away in trust funds that could only be accessed when a Ward turned eighteen.

Over a thousand dollars from criminals this morning…

I told myself I'd have to think about it, especially since I didn't have a way to give my dad the money.

I'd begun designing my costume before the day was over.

* * *

I paused in my thoughts as I saw movement down below.

Nope, just cats.

My costume went with subtlety, but even that ran me up almost four hundred dollars. If I was going to be using this stuff to wander the Docks, I wanted it to at least be good quality. I tried to think of everything as an investment; if it worked out I'd make everything back.

After three days of planning and designing, I finally decided to go out tonight. Stealing from criminals wasn't _that_ bad, and I'd already done it once. If anything, I thought of myself sort of like Robin Hood. My family needed money, and the gangs had a lot of ill-acquired liquidity.

My dad's face when I gave him two hundred dollars yesterday helped assuage any guilt I had left.

_"Yeah Dad! I got a job tutoring! Well… it's a tutoring-babysitting combination, and I basically just have one real customers right now, but they gave me an advance for the week!"_

I couldn't just hand him a thousand dollars, but if I got more 'customers' with time…

_"The problem is I might have to work pretty late, and I'll be out for most of the day... but that's just for winter break! After school starts I'll probably only work late a few nights a week."_

I didn't feel guilty when faced with his proud smile; not when I could see an edge of relief.

_"Okay Taylor, but I want you to promise me that you'll be careful!"_

_"Of course Dad, you really don't have to worry so much."_

That brought me here, on a roof, overlooking the street where I'd felt another invisible Tinker monstrosity drive by while surveying the safer edges of the Docks earlier today. From what I could sense, the invisible car had held another stash cash, and probably drugs. As weak as the magnetic strips in the bills were, I could still feel the messy stacks in bags and containers. I was here for another opportunity to grab some cash; hopefully without burning most of it.

I'd picked a single story roof to keep most of the street within the radius of my powers, even though it gave me less of a vantage point. A different Tinker contraption entered my senses, and when I looked I could see it. Whereas the invisible cars featured vacuum-microwave machines, this one had what looked like a bedside lamp embedded into a personal air conditioner.

Remembering the skinheads' conversation, I realized this model must be the one that blew people up. Parahumans Online informed me that the Merchant Tinker was called Squealer, and her specialization was vehicles. The machine I saw now, as well as the ones before, were all her work.

Cape gossip was rather popular, and if you lived in a town with active cape villains, actually kind of important. Better to know that so-and-so was a pyrokinetic so you were better prepared with a fire extinguisher at home. That's how I knew, supported by my previous experience, that her latest works were made to be disposable.

Tinker technology couldn't be mass produced because there wasn't a reliable method to run maintenance on all of it. That's why teleporters and floating cars weren't around for everyone to use. Due to the various specializations and construction methods, Tinkers generally had a difficult time working on another Tinker's equipment. This meant only the original Tinker could unfailingly work on or maintain his or her technology. Collaboration between Tinkers was possible, but rare and generally over-complicated.

Squealer had decided to ignore maintenance all together, and just pump out as many creations as she could. Sure they didn't last long, but they still got the job done before they failed. The Merchants tried to avoid driving into high traffic areas or during commuter hours, but a few accidents had warranted a city-wide announcement about invisible cars.

The machine that was slowly driving away from me wasn't an invisible car. I slowly followed, gently floating from roof to roof as the car navigated the streets. I hadn't felt any money in the car, but then again, it had only brushed my senses.

Landing on a two story building five blocks away from where we started, I felt a dull headache and paused on the roof. Along the way, I noticed that the Tinker vehicle might not be invisible, but it still had the same sound masking technology; I had to keep my eyes on the target or else it might disappear. The contraption stopped a bit further down the street, and the lights shut off. Glad for the break, I peered over the edge and waited.

And waited.

After about an hour, I was starting to think the driver had gotten high and passed out. The Merchants _were_ junkies…

With a sigh, I checked my disposable phone. 9:00 PM. I could probably get away with getting home at ten, but any later than that and Dad would be pretty upset. While I briefly considered calling him, I looked back down at the car. Four Merchants stood around passing something to each other.

_Where did they come from?_

Cursing my inattentiveness, I levitated myself a few roofs closer. Squinting my eyes, I adjusted my glasses and could barely make out something behind one of the Merchants. It looked like the open door on an invisible car…

A figure appeared behind one of the Merchants and slit his throat before any of them could react. As two of the remaining three moved to draw weapons, the last of them tackled their attacker. He fell through a cloud of gray as his compatriots lost their lives in quick succession. One to a knife in the back, and the other joined the first in bleeding out his throat. Clouds of what looked like ash burst around them, floating gently down on the dying men like snow.

The last Merchant scrambled to his feet and started backing away from the cape that had killed his friends. I was too far to hear what might've been said, but when he turned to run, a knife to the chest ended everything.

I stared with my hands over my mouth. Everything happened so brutally, and it was over in an instant. I'd just witnessed a quadruple murder. If I wasn't so terrified of being caught I might've thrown up. My chest pounded as nausea and fear bubbled up inside me; I was barely holding it together as it was.

_What the fuck had I been thinking?_

Rob the gangs for easy money? I almost couldn't stop myself from laughing hysterically.

Pulling myself together, I peeked over the edge again and saw the four bodies bleeding their lives into one puddle. Four on one and they'd been decimated in seconds. Is this what it meant to have powers? The gap between humans and parahumans?

The sudden and casual violence terrified me.

The killer was opening the doors to the visible car, and rifling through the back seat. He wore all black and some sort of mask. It looked creepy even from a distance, though that might've been from what I just watched. Oni Lee, the other parahuman villain in the Asian Bad Boyz, and apparently a psycho-murderer. Fear kept me frozen as I watched him move to the front seats, and then the trunk. I looked over at where the invisible car was supposed to be, and couldn't see anything.

_The door must've been shut by the fight._

The cooling body of the Merchant stabbed in the back had fallen in the right direction…

I almost threw up as I rose to my feet, and took a few deep breaths to calm down.

Levitating slowly, I could barely hear myself think over the blood pounding in my ears.

_I should just fly away now._

But I'd already come this far, and it wasn't as if I couldn't fly away later.

Lowering myself in the air until the invisible car sat at the edge of my range, I thanked whatever higher deity that the Merchants left the car's invisibility running. I dropped a bit further to shift the gears, and glanced over at the masked killer. He'd bent over to search inside the first machine's trunk. I floated above the car, and if he looked over he might just miss me.

Or he might not.

I pushed the gas, and the car started driving down the road. Every second I hovered above it, felt like my last. letting it get about twenty feet down the road, I dropped down while opening the front door with my power. Quickly getting inside, I closed the door and turned around. The villain was walking toward where the car used to be, arms out in front of him feeling for something invisible.

I let loose a slightly-crazed giggle, and turned back around. Remembering how the Tinker car failed last time, I drove forward looking for an alleyway. Focusing on the trunk, I was slightly disappointed by the amount of money I felt. But I was _alive_.

Laughing with relief, I pulled into an alley two blocks away. The trunk popped open as I got out of the car, and the bag, a stained blue backpack, weakly floated out. I could create super powered magnets, but if it wasn't magnetic it just wouldn't work. Slinging the backpack over my shoulder, I considered taking the functioning invisible car. The ugly mess of Tinker tech probably wouldn't last much longer anyway.

Shrugging, I floated myself up, aiming out of the alleyway. I think I hid my backpack in that direction…

A muffled clink and sharp pain heralded the first stab, and I barely reacted quickly enough to push away the second as someone had suddenly appeared behind me.

_What the fuck!?_

Oni Lee had found me. The murderer had found me.

_Shit, shit, shit!_

I frantically pushed myself upward as fast as I could as he disappeared into another cloud of dust.

Next, he appeared to my side, but I sent out a magnetic burst and the knife in his hand and weapons on his bandoleer and belt carried him back. I slip my other arm through the loose backpack strap before pushing myself diagonally left to swerve away from another reappearance.

_I'mgonnadieI'mgonnadieI'mgonnadie_

I kept rising straight into the sky, thirty feet, thirty-five, forty, fifty. Adrenaline coursed through me.

_I can't fight him!_

My senses felt him appear several feet above me, and I launched myself backward. He slashed downward as he fell, narrowly missing my face.

Before he'd even turned to dust, another appeared right in front of me, knives in both hands mid-thrust. The world stood still as I stared at his smiling demon mask, watching my death approach. The knives cut through my hoodie, before my power stopped them millimetres from my throat and I threw him back. Everything sped up again. _Can't panic_. I began projecting a thin but strong magnetic field outward, constantly covering my body.

The next strike stopped inches away, and a shaky smile crossed my face. I pushed my flight harder, going higher than I'd ever tried before. My power deflected strikes from three copies now, front, back, above, none of which came close enough to hurt me. Clouds of dust burst around near-continuously as Oni Lee barraged me with strikes from every angle.

The bay's cars were starting to look like toys when he gave up on the knives and switched to his fists. I almost didn't react to his first swing, and he struck my upper right chest. The weighted vest lessened the blow, but I knew I'd be bruised tomorrow.

He still had the weapons on him though, and every attempt after I moved him away whenever he teleported into my range. My power pushed, pulled, and spun me; boosting me omnidirectionally. I began feeling a bit dizzy.

My almost casual observation was a surreal relief. _Dodging swings is pretty easy when you can fly and the other person can't._

As abruptly as he'd struck, Oni Lee vanished, and I was alone. I waited, floating in place with tense anticipation, cold sweat running down my face.

But only the wind disturbed the quiet sky.

After a few minutes of stillness, I let myself relax.

I was alive.

* * *

AN: =D

~Sleep


	9. Ch 6: Preparation

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Worm.

Beta: Sneaky Animal With A Long Neck

AN: Tough stuff.

Minor notes: The dates I'm using are from the current 2013-2014 calendar instead of 2010-2011. If you didn't notice, onward! If you did, well I'm not going to go mess with all the dates when I have more exciting things to write about. Just know that you were right about the dates being off.

Enjoy the story! ~Work

* * *

Dazed from escaping with my life, I shivered in the cold winter air before cautiously descending back to earth. I cut a wide zigzagging pattern down to throw off any observers, just in case. It took nearly twenty minutes of hovering and searching, but I finally touched down where I'd hidden my stuff before the night began. I tiredly unslung the dirty backpack holding my ill-gotten gains.

My stomach dropped when I saw the gaping slash going through the side of it. Scrambling to unzip it, I shoved my hands inside and touched what my power already sensed: at least half the money had fallen out. Of course I didn't think to shield the backpack, I was running for my life.

Resigned, I shifted to change out of my costume and a sudden sharp pain on my back made itself known. My hand came away bloody as I slowly stretched to check it.

The weighted vest hadn't completely block Oni Lee's first stab.

I awkwardly stuffed my extra shirt under my vest to cover the wound, and put pressure over it by channeling my power through the weights. The adrenaline fading, the previously dull throbbing pain only felt worse since I now knew it was there.

Shrugging off my outer clothes, I threw undamaged spares over everything and began making my way home. Every step felt jarring and I'd barely crossed a block before I started using my power to float myself home, miming walking to hide my weightlessness.

It was nearing midnight when I finally got home. I ducked behind the house to take off the last few pieces of my costume, before I stumbled through the front door. My dad had immediately been all over me. Hiding a wince at his tight hug, I hugged back automatically. At that moment, squeezed in his arms, I almost told him everything.

Instead, I schooled my face and stuck to my story.

"Taylor what happened! Why're you home so late?"

I reached into my pocket handed him a hundred dollars in the cleanest bills from the stash I'd stolen. He didn't take the money and I put it on the counter.

With a deep breath, I started talking, "Sorry Dad, there was an emergency with the parents and they couldn't get home until late. They paid me a generous overtime though."

Dad wasn't deterred, and now that he knew I was fine, he grew frustrated. "I don't care about the money! You should've called me! Do you know how worried I was? You know how unsafe this city can be!"

I'd personally experienced how dangerous Brockton could get, but I kept myself together on the outside as I replied, "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. I got lost in a book after I put the kids to bed. It was easy money."

_I was way in over my head. I thought it would just be easy money._

He out a loaded sigh before speaking. "I should make you quit your job..." he held up a hand to stall my objections before continuing, "... but I know you're just trying help. I want you to be more responsible though. That means letting me know where you'll be and calling home whenever you might be late. I'm trusting you here Taylor."

Despite my efforts, my words still came out almost tonelessly. "You're right, I'm really sorry. I didn't think you'd be so upset. I promise it won't happen again."

_I did it for our family._

He scrutinized me for a moment. My face a mix of contritement and defiance, even if it was for a different reason. I must've managed enough of an honest expression to pass.

"Well good... Now, did you eat there? Or should I fix you up something?"

* * *

I never thought I'd be putting the first aid class I'd taken to practical use.

Stitching my self up would be plenty difficult without the awkward position of the wound. As it was, I stood back facing the bathroom mirror, clumsily pinching the gash closed, and slowly manipulating the needle with my power.

Careful, careful. A bit more to the left-no wait right. _Ouch,_ that hurts. Okay almost done. Just one more loop… and finished.

Scissors moved into position to cut the loose thread, and I grimaced while applying bandages over everything.

Finishing up in the bathroom, I took a single step into my bedroom when everything came crashing down. I tried to keep quiet, but composure goes out the window when you're throwing up in a toilet. The midnight snack I shared with my dad came up first.

Grilled cheese and tomato soup.

I emptied my stomach until it hurt, somehow not waking up my dad down the hall. Wiping my face, I hugged my legs to my chest as sat on the floor. I winced at the tenderness of my wound when I rocked back against the wall.

_I'd almost died._

Everything felt surreal to me as I sat there. Numbness meshed with relief and I choked out a quiet sob. Another forced its way out, and before I knew it, tears flowed down my face. I couldn't stop crying.

I don't know when I got back in bed, but I barely slept that night.

* * *

I went through the motions the next morning.

A semi-fake smile for my dad as I made breakfast, sneaking a few pain relievers as he read the morning paper. Packing my backpack with some school work, I left for the bus stop. I had work to do and customers to meet. Previously, I appreciated how my 'job' essentially freed me to my own devices for the entire day, but now I had too much time to think.

Sitting on the bus, I stared sightlessly as my mind replayed the events of last night, sticking on my very apparent mortality.

The sudden death and violence still sent chills down my spine. Watching the Empire and Merchant thugs fight each other from a distance was a world away from being in the thick of things. Even if they'd seen me, I would've been safe in the end. They wouldn't have had any real reason to hurt me, not with rival gangsters around, and I could run, maybe even reveal my powers as a last resort.

Oni Lee didn't give me a chance.

Without my power… the stitches in my back were a testament to what would've happened. Messing around with gangs wasn't a _game_. Before last night I'd been fairly optimistic about my chances. Sneak around, my powers giving me mobility and finding the invisible transports, and steal some money before anyone knew I was there.

Death was a very real, cold, and harsh reality.

The four dead bodies lying in that street were proof of how far away from a game this was. I grew slightly nauseous at the memory.

Oni Lee struck without hesitation, showcasing a propensity for violence that I couldn't even think to match as I fled in panic. Only his metal weapons saved me from perishing. Luck wasn't something I was willing to rely on if I tried again.

_If I tried again…_

Getting off the bus at a random corner, I walked along the Boardwalk, heading in the general direction of the library. My power sensed the metal people carried, cell phones, coins, belts… I absentmindedly moved to dodge nearby pedestrians as they came close.

At the crux of my thoughts lied the fact that I put myself in danger last night without really considering the consequences. The lack of foresight frustrated me. Regardless of my intentions, I didn't think things through. If I died last night, it would've been with a despairing whimper. How pointless would my death have been? There was so much I hadn't done in life.

I haven't graduated high school, and I'd always believed I'd go college. While I wasn't a genius, I could still pull together a solid GPA if I worked really hard this semester. It would've made mom so proud to see me live up to how smart she thought I was.

I wanted travel beyond the nearest state, there was so much I wanted to see and experience. Maybe I could even make it to a different country. The world had so much _more_ to offer.

And a not so small part of me still waited to find someone and fall in love.

All these dreams and countless others. I wanted to reach out and grab them; seize life and feel the exhilaration that comes with it.

I want to _live_ before I die.

The sudden silence put me on guard as I remembered Squealer's Tinker cars, before I looked around and relaxed: I'd walked into the library. I settled myself at an empty table, pulled out a pen, and began half-heartedly doodling in my notebook.

And where would my death leave Dad? Crushed from losing first mom and then me? Would he feel like he'd failed as a father? Even though I couldn't ask for anyone better?

My future was reason enough to never go out again.

The jumbled cycle of fear, frustration, sadness, and desire ultimately left me tired.

_But can I be satisfied with my life as it is?_

A superficial accounting of the way things were came up wanting. The bullies haunting my steps at school… The money troubles we faced at home… I stopped myself before I began dwelling on worse things.

No, I didn't want to die, but I wanted more than to just exist.

After last night, I had around four thousand dollars in cash. Even after the bills I'd seen, it was more than enough to get Dad and I through the next month comfortably, maybe two. I could stop and hope for the best; Dad's job had bounced back in the past.

I could change _everything_ though. Although my adventure last night was tainted by my near-death experience, I came away successful. All it would take is one big stash and my powers could be our ticket to a better life. I would be more careful, really take my time to plan things out. I had the money to get better precautions, and I knew what to expect now. I'd seen the brutality and experienced a violent brush with death.

I could meet force with force.

Defense and offense. I needed better in the first category, but only lacked the willingness in the second. My panicked weathering of Oni Lee's onslaught through the sky cured me of one, and I was prepared to build on the other. I walked over to the line for computers and prepared to do more research.

* * *

One of the first things I'd tried was flying. Though in my case magnetic levitation was more accurate.

Flying was awesome; subsequently falling... not so much.

I wish I could say my first success had me looking like some sort of asian monk: floating in a cross-legged pose, eyes shut in concentration. Except I didn't have enough power to get off the ground. My first idea was to sit on something metal, usually a trashcan lid. With the way my power grew, I didn't doubt that I'd be able to someday fly without the equivalent of training wheels; however I was more concerned about an immediate solution. The lids gave me better maneuverability, but I still couldn't really do anything but sit as I zoomed around.

Still pretty fun though.

I graduated from my trash can lid sleighs to my old costume's weighted clothing. Wearing that let me control my flight better since I had a better magnetic center of force. Adding the arm and leg weights helped me adjust to the feeling of null gravity as I took flight. The wind whipping through my hair as I soared… that was freedom. I couldn't take the time to appreciate it last night for obvious reasons, but there must've been an amazing view of the Bay in the moonlight.

Now I was upgrading my protection.

Running from Oni Lee taught me how to form a magnetic shield on my body, protecting me from his knife. But while the shields were great, I couldn't only rely on them because Oni Lee also showed me how they didn't block his fists. In addition, while hopefully I could stop any guns I might encounter before they fired, I didn't want to test my magnetic shields against bullets quite yet.

That brought me back to armor. Sort of.

I finished trying on the knee pads before I carried them to the counter. Thankfully buying the set, along with a motorcycle helmet, wrist guards and elbow pads, wasn't too expensive and I didn't raise any eyebrows paying with cash. If anything, the cashier looked happy to count out the change.

Wanting to make armor and knowing how to make armor are two very different things. Copying instructions online only got me so far, especially since I didn't have a way to melt down the metal. Sure I could bend sheets of metal into rough approximations, but I didn't want to restrict my mobility if I didn't make it right. Plus there was a reason people didn't wear armor nowadays anyway: most guns could shoot right through it.

My priority was more encompassing protection though, and after the sporting goods store, I made a my second stop at home improvement. I needed some more metal on hand.

My last stop brought me back to the Boat Graveyard. Cognizant of my near-death, I snuck in slowly and carefully. The sun would set soon, and I had at most a couple of hours of daylight left. I walked around looking at the old ships, most of them grand shipping vessels that loomed over me. I finally found what I was looking for in an old oil tanker, probably the last one of its kind to visit Brockton.

I reached out toward the side and _pulled_. The metal creaked quietly at first, but then the boat groaned as a section twice my height began bending outward. Ripping the section away from the tanker with a sudden jerk that nearly brought me to my knees, I barely held the chunk from crashing to the floor. A gaping hole in the side of the boat showcased its insides. Lowering the piece slowly, I began bending it where different sheets of steel had been welded together. Creasing it slowly, almost as if were a giant piece of paper, I tore the metal in half. Repeating the process twice more, I had four chunks of steel, all a little over an inch thick.

The tears weren't clean, but each piece was roughly four feet wide and six feet long. With a gesture, they rose up and began rotating around me. I vanished behind the small walls of metal.

These were my shields, and they were my best bet at stopping bullets.

Setting down the metal, I removed several cans of black spray paint and began covering the worn blue coating the boat originally had. The huge chunks of metal weren't exactly inconspicuous, but I had to at least try. Using small pieces of metal to apply pressure, I began using all the spray cans at once to quickly cover the first side of the metal.

While waiting for that to dry, I levitated several smaller sheets of metal out of my backpack. These weren't nearly as thick, the boatyard was the only place I could find steel thicker than a quarter inch discreetly and on short notice, and came in single foot squares. A helpful employee had even helped me drill a line of holes along the edges, said he was glad a girl was actually interested in getting her hands dirty. I placed these around my body and slowly molded them.

I'd be attaching some of these to my weighted vest to cover my vitals better, and the others would form makeshift armor plates around my arms and legs. I planned to connect the pieces together with metal wire, and then weave the whole set to the outside of my hoodie. I knew I could stop knives, but it felt better to have redundant protections.

When the plates were finished, I set them down on the floor next to my shields. The sound of aerosol filled the air again as I painted the armor sheets black as well. Adjusting my position to be upwind of the fumes, I considered my progress. I wouldn't be able to finish painting everything now, but luckily I had the convenient storage space of a newly opened ship. I carefully hid the everything in on the second level of the boat, resorting to my magnetic sense once the items floated out of sight.

After stashing the spray cans, I began heading back into town. The darkening sky made it easier to sneak by in the shadows, but it was the fact that my radius didn't feel any moving metal that let me feel fairly safe. I still need a way to hide my new helmet from Dad, and the rest of my new costume could be finished by tomorrow.

When I reached the first safe street, I changed direction toward my dad's favorite restaurant. Celebrating my successes with take-out seemed like a great idea.

* * *

It seemed so unreal that I'd almost died two nights ago. The difference between the peaceful New Years Eve I spent with my dad last night and my fight with Oni Lee was black and white, night and day. It might've been the great night's sleep, but I felt better about my chances than ever. I finished putting together my costume, wiring together the armor and painting my wall shields, earlier today, but restlessness dogged me.

I returned to the library to plan.

The risks I took my first night out weren't acceptable. I got lucky, plain and simple. My work today and yesterday would help protect me, but I needed to be ready to defend myself too. I was too naive and too scared; I didn't even try to attack Oni Lee. Moving forward I had to use everything in my arsenal. Magnetism was a fantastic power, and in an urban setting there were countless things I could use. I hesitated before because I didn't want to hurt anyone, but this was me putting my life on the line. The other capes wouldn't necessarily be as considerate.

The other capes...

Oni Lee knew there was another cape out there, but he didn't know if I was part of the Merchants or not. Had word gotten out about me?

A quick check on Parahumans Online didn't show any entries discussing a new cape with my powers, and I let out a breath of relief. There was something about a new cape in town though. She called herself Parian, and there didn't seem to be much discussion about her, because she was apparently a rogue.

I knew from Mr. Gladly's class that rogues were capes that weren't villains or heroes; they didn't get involved with committing or stopping crimes. As a result, they didn't receive much media attention. Most of the forums thought they were kind of boring, and, unless they were doing something important, a waste of powers.

I snorted at the thought.

And then idea caused me to pause. What was I going to do when I got enough money to fix our problems? Would I go on with my life in, hopefully, Arcadia? Be a normal student?

Never use my powers again?

I thought about everything I could do now. Flight, moving cars, shooting metal… I saw the world differently now. Both literally and figuratively. And I kept getting stronger.

Planning to alleviate all my immediate problems had overshadowed nearly everything else. I got so caught up trying to change things that I didn't know what I'd do afterward. I knew I wanted a comfortable life and the freedom to be myself. That had been the general goal I'd been aiming for; my powers had been a means to an end.

What would I do with them after?

Parian's masked face stared at me from the screen. She wore a costume that made her look like an old porcelain doll; a large frilly dress with a matching hat that came from a different era. Her gold hair in curls framed the creepy doll's face that completed the image.

More relevant to my current thoughts, Parian worked using her powers. She actually advertised how she could create and animate mascots for various events, and apparently wanted to be a fashion designer.

I could do a lot with my powers. Transporting heavy metal things, unlocking jammed locks, and yesterday I tore the side off a boat…

Daddy always talked about how taking back the Boat Graveyard would solve so many problems, and while I couldn't pick up any of the big boats, there was a lot I _could_ do.

I smiled as I closed the window and logged out. I didn't like keeping secrets from Dad anyway.

* * *

The key factor I'd forgotten when I first went out was preparation. I could blame my inexperience, but I tried to find and rob the Merchants in a single night. If I wanted my next heist to be my last, then it had to be planned down to the last detail. One good stash and Dad and I wouldn't have to worry about selling the house for months, if ever.

And I could come clean to him about my powers.

I put on the modified costume in my room and grabbed my backpack, before slowly flying out the bedroom window. I couldn't imagine having to sneak out the front door with the way the floorboards creaked and groaned. Even if Dad was a heavy sleeper…

Shrugging off the tangent, I lowered myself to the ground before heading to the Boat Graveyard. I wasn't too worried about sustaining flight, but the mantra of the night was _Be Careful_. Moderating my power use was important if I didn't know if it was going to be a long night.

By the time I reached the boatyard, the moon shone brightly in the sky, illuminating the landscape with an almost bright light. I pulled my wall shields from their hiding place and laid them down on the ground. The black paint barely showed in the dim light. I smiled and stacked them on top of each other before stepping on. Sticking myself to the metal, I let the board slowly rise into the air before shooting it forward.

A loud burst of laughter escaped me before I reigned myself in. I was surfing through the sky in the moonlight.

Within minutes I'd cut a straight path to my destination: the street where everything went so wrong two nights ago. My desire to conserve power warred with the inclination to be careful, but in the end I didn't land, but instead sat down and tilted my stack of metal to let me see over the edge. Slowly rotating to take in more of the area below, I waited with patience I didn't have a couple nights ago. I was safer up here.

Instead, I went over my supplies while I watched the streets for movement.

Pepperspray, my cheap phone, basic emergency medical supplies… I'd ditched the small flashlight since it seemed like a hazard more than anything. I didn't open the new backpack, a black one I'd bought earlier to match my costume, but rather sensed the items inside with my power: numerous and all metal. It was surprising what you could buy for cheap at a home improvement store.

Movement down below directed my attention away from my inventory check.

A block away, two of the visible Tinker monstrosities rolled in from opposite ends of the same street. By the time I'd glided nearer to their position, the cars had pulled up next to each other. They were probably escorting or meeting a third invisible one, but they were out of my range from this height. Instead of moving lover to check, I rose higher in the air and kept an eye out for trouble. Thugs got out of the cars and quickly exchanged bags. They didn't risk idling here. Smart.

They finished up quickly, I couldn't decide which one to follow when the entire street plunged into a silent smoky darkness.

Of course another cape would show up.

After Oni Lee I'd done my research, this was Grue, another villain. The forum speculation said that he'd joined up with a group of villains called the Undersiders, but I couldn't see anyone else around. I flew even higher just in case.

The sound of screeching tires ripped through the eerie silence as one of the Tinker cars burst through the end of the street. _I guess I'm following that one._ Starting a fight with a gang of capes went against the mantra.

_Be Careful_

Besides tonight was all about surveillance. The Merchants had to have places where they put their money and drugs; it couldn't all be out on the streets. Follow the cars, find the money, and stay safe.

Matching the contraption's speed might've been tough if I couldn't ignore the obstacles on the ground, but I did have to drop some altitude to keep the car in my line of sight. Luckily, the Docks didn't have many long straightaways, and the driver had to make turns almost every couple blocks. A quick glance back showed me that the darkness had spread into the two intersecting streets; the other thugs were probably trapped.

The driver suddenly pulled into a small side street and stopped. As I cautiously lowered myself, a familiar spluttering sound reached my ears. Landing my stack on a nearby roof, I peered over the edge. Sure enough, one of the invisible Tinker vehicles had appeared.

The frustrated shouts of the four junkies rang through the air.

"These things fucking suck! They're always breaking down!"

"Shut the fuck up man! Do you want those capes to catch us?"

I strained to hear the next few words as their voices dropped.

"...move it… my car."

"Piece of… we… scrap parts."

"Take the … over on…st Street"

"Skidmark's..."

Gritting my teeth in frustration, I repeated my plans to myself so I didn't jump down and rob them. I could shut off the Tinker machines and there was plenty of stuff I could use in the alley without revealing too much. The dumpsters would be the easiest...

But I didn't know what the other car's weapon did yet, and that wasn't being careful.

The Merchants moved bags into the weapon vehicle, and then three of them hop in and pulled out of the alleyway. I felt sorry for the last one, who must've had orders to save the last car for parts. The roof of the invisible car had already started sparking.

I stepped back onto my metal shields and followed the first car from a distance. They barely made it three blocks when a monster jumped out in front of them. It nearly dwarfed the Tinker car in size, with sharp looking spikes jutting out from it's sides and neck. Plates of what must be bone armored it's face and body, and any muscle that was exposed throbbed grotesquely in the moonlight.

"_That is fucking terrifying!" _I thought, before a massive bolt of electricity erupted from the car and struck the beast in the chest. It let out some combination of a roar and a yelp as the blast knocked it off its feet. The Tinker car swerved around the struggling monster when a sharp whistle cut through the air and a second quadrupedal horror slammed into the cars side.

As the car spun into a wall, another enormous electrical discharge fired wildly and obliterated a nearby wall. A barked yell sounded out and a third beast jumped off the collapsing building. This one had two riders, and paying closer attention, I saw a third person riding the second monster. Definitely the Undersiders then.

I'd distanced myself enough where no one had noticed me yet, and I considered my options. The first and second monsters, I still couldn't believe they were dogs, had pinned the car down, and villains were approaching it. I didn't want to reveal myself to more capes, but my plan to follow the Merchants was in shambles. At this rate, every time I found some Merchants I could run into other capes trying the same thing. Plus, I could guess how much money was in that trunk. I had the element of surprise…

Hundreds of metal ball bearings spilled out from the extra backpack I'd bought and pooled into a mass beside me. I could accelerate them enough to incapacitate the criminals, though I didn't want to accidentally kill anyone. The monster dogs might be a problem too. I'd have to be fast then, scare them into running with overwhelming force, steal the money, and fly away.

I began preparing magnetic loops, forming a cylinder from me to the edge of my radius, and pointed at my targets. I'd never tried shooting something at this range, but I could fire more than one bearing at once. The firing spread should cover a large enough area… and I had plenty of ammo for another shot. Guessing the appropriate strength, I finished preparing my pseudo-coilgun.

Was this the right decision?

I paused as a smaller clump of bearings detached from the pile and floated into place. Remembering my first night, I'd be playing the role of Oni Lee in this situation. Could I really ambush someone like this?

Suddenly, Undersiders jumped back onto their mounts and leapt away.

_Did they know I was about to attack them!?_

I swung my 'barrel' while forming others pointed at each of the dogs when a flash of light blinded me, followed by the sound of a thunderstrike. Frantically blinking away the spots of light in my vision, I pushed the metal I stood on upward while quickly moving the other three wall shields into a triangle around me. They blocked off the world as I regained my senses and tried comprehend what had just happened.

After settling my pounding heart, I lowered myself back down and opened a the walls to take in the scene before me.

First, the Undersiders were gone.

Second, the Tinker car had been mostly _vaporized_.

Shuddering at witnessing death again tonight, I decided to be even more wary of the gang of supervillains. While I doubt they meant to kill the Merchants in the car, they hadn't stuck around to check for survivors either.

I sighed, the night had been ruined by other capes. Again.

Perhaps it was for the best, I clearly didn't have the willingness to attack first yet, but it might've saved me in the end. I had to stick to my plan: gathering information. At least I didn't hesitate to pull out one of my big guns. Steeling myself, I realized that I would have to strike first at some point. I could try to pick my target as carefully as I wanted, but all the watching I did wouldn't matter if I _only_ watched. I went over my priorities again.

Stay safe, keep my identity hidden, and gather information.

Levitating higher into the air, I backtracked toward where the Merchants had first met. Barely making it halfway, I saw black smoke flooding another street.

Great... they're still trying to pull something tonight.

As I moved to raise myself up, part of the smoke bubbled on top before it burst and a thinner black wisp blew up toward one of the buildings. It touched a window ledge and… changed direction? I had my answer when the smoke pulled together and a person materialized on the roof to diagonally below to my left.

Shadow Stalker

Seriously? Supervillains _and_ heroes tonight? Was everyone trying to rip off the Merchants?

Then the hero began firing a crossbow into the billowing smoke cloud.

Okay, that couldn't be right. I looked again to make sure, but Shadow Stalker kept shooting into the smoke. Grue was a villain, but I didn't think heroes killed… They were the good guys right? Shadow Stalker was a Ward; the side I once considered joining before I decided I couldn't be a hero?

I began feeling slightly crushed. Heroes were supposed to be better than this. There wasn't any relief at the idea that they could be flawed. Maybe it was childish, but after everything I'd held on to the idea that there were _good_ people in this world. Heroes were living, breathing proof.

Pausing, I considered that they might not be lethal bolts. _Of course _they weren't! Shadow Stalker is a hero! I scolded myself at my traitorous thoughts earlier.

And then the smoke started clearing.

The bolts halfway into the walls didn't seem like non-lethal strikes, nor did the broken windows.

The body bleeding out behind a car didn't either.

I felt my heart drop into my stomach as I watched the scene below me. Shadow Stalker took aim and fired again, except this time I barely saw a fast moving blur of black smoke. I quickly turned toward her target instead, and watched the wisp pass _through_ the car before materializing on the other side; as a bolt buried partway inside the concrete.

In the midst of my morbid disillusionment, I'd distractedly drifted down closer. I could see Shadow Stalker almost too clearly now, thirty feet underneath me. She was too focused on shooting, hadn't paid attention to her surroundings; though most people never look up. I glanced at her victim again, Grue was struggling to move as he shifted closer to the car. Nothing I read online mentioned him having a power that could handle this. No durability or healing.

I had to know if she was trying to kill him.

Carefully lowering myself, I noticed my radius had grown again as I felt Shadow Stalker's weapons earlier than I expected. She definitely wasn't using non-lethal force. She had another set of bolts, and from the way they were shaped, had a different function. They probably tranquilized or stunned, but that set was full. She'd been firing the regular crossbow ammunition, the kind that punched holes in people.

"Come out and face me like man!"

Her voice calling out broke me out of my shock. I looked into the street and Grue had managed to crawl behind the next car. I wasn't sure if Shadow Stalker had noticed.

"You put up quite the chase, but you had to know you couldn't run forever." Her voice oozed satisfaction.

He didn't say anything and continued to shift away.

She continued despite the silence, "No last words?" She shrugged, as if not expecting any different, and hefted her crossbows. The next two shots phased through the car and materialized just on the other side. They clinked to the ground. Shadow Stalker let out a frustrated growl at the noise before she dissolved into smoke and floated onto the next roof.

"You know you're not going to get away." Her voice seemed to echo through the street.

She fired two more shots into the next car. One looked like it pierced his stomach. The bolts barely lost momentum when they rematerialized, and could be phased _inside_ of things. The possibilities were brutal, made worse by the fact that it was happening right in front of me.

This wasn't a hero.

Grue couldn't keep quiet enough after the last shot, and the Ward adjusted her aim. As the bolts left the crossbows, I couldn't stop myself from reaching out and trying to redirect their path. It was exactly like trying to grab smoke; the bolts slipped through my powers. They phased into being inside the car though, and the villain bleeding on the street slowly inched forward. Shadow Stalker calmly reloaded and took aim again. Anger and disgust ran through me.

This was a murderer.

When she fired, I reached out with everything that wasn't keeping me afloat and sent it smashing into the bolts. The Ward probably couldn't tell from her angle, but it was enough to alter the trajectory. She missed again. My powers could apparently work on the metal she'd affected, but only just.

Barely batting down the next bolts, I sat down heavily on my stack of wall shields. Everything about this scene resonated with me in all the wrong ways. One cape trying to kill another. The hero failing to be a good person. The villain just trying to live.

Knocking her next shots off target, I couldn't stop the following volley from scoring a hit on his upper body. I felt a nasty headache building for the first time in weeks. I couldn't keep this up or I risked revealing myself, probably by falling out of the sky.

I prepared more power in time with her usual shot timing, but Shadow Stalker had to reload. I almost laughed. On the sidewalk, Grue continued his painfully slow crawl toward the intersection.

Leaving was still an option. Even if none of them had seen me, Shadow Stalker could shoot through my shields. I'd interfered enough, and the masks on this stage might catch on that there was an extra actor in the wings. Protecting myself was my first priority, but letting some die when I could've done something… It was easier to say I wouldn't save someone when it wasn't happening in front of me. I did do something though, I had helped… just not as much as I could. Jumping in completely was also viable. My power only strained itself to interfere with the shadow state, I had plenty of attack options from up here.

Someone else took the decision from my hands.

Shadow Stalker's arms jerked awkwardly downward and one of the crossbows shot her in the knee. I did laugh this time as she began cursing, but at the same time I picked up speed moving upward. One of the monster dogs from before barreled into where the Ward stood trying to crush her just as she broke down into smoke. Down below, three supervillains were helping their comrade onto another dog. The Undersiders had arrived.

Relieved at having helped avert more death tonight, I took off before they could notice. Tonight tested my resolve in many ways, but even with the ominous realization that I could've made the decision to let someone die, I flew home with a small smile on my face.

* * *

AN: Did Shadow Stalker take an arrow to the knee? ;-) Do I have a plan for that or is it a cheap joke? xD Stay tuned!

~Sleep


	10. Interlude 4: Just Being Human

Disclaimer: Don't own anything you recognize from Worm.

Beta: You-would-not-see-the-fuzzy-long-necked-mammal-if-you-were-not-looking-for-it

AN: Reviews make me more excited to write more, otherwise I'm really not sure how the story's going over. I appreciate and read all of them. Read and Enjoy!

~Work

* * *

"Shadow Stalker, the duration of Master-Stranger protocols for interaction with a known Master, in this case the cape designated as Regent, have passed. The director plans to clear you from quarantine after you pass my examination. We've received your report, but I'm here to question you personally about the events two days ago, Wednesday, January first, two thousand eleven. Are you ready to begin?"

He silently activated one of the features in his visor.

"Let's just get this over with so I can get back to my life."

_Null_

Her response is unprofessional, not surprising given her history. "How were you injured?"

Shadow Stalker becomes visibly angry with the reminder. "While in pursuit of the Undersiders, Regent caused me to accidentally shoot myself. "

_True_.

Completely possible, except… "Why was the wound from a lethal bolt?"

She attempts to calm herself down before she answers, "I ran out of tranquilizer bolts on patrol last night. I decided to use what I had on me."

_True_

Armsmaster nearly frowned at the answer before continuing, "Why were you patrolling alone?"

"I wanted to blow off some steam and no one wanted to come with me." Her reply almost seemed disinterested, which didn't match the body readings.

_True_

However, it was plausible and he followed-up with the next question, "Why didn't you call for backup when you encountered hostile capes?"

Her answer came with a touch of anger, "It was only Grue at first, and I wanted to handle it by myself."

_True_

At the answer, Armsmaster did frown, "Standard protocol requi-"

Shadow Stalker's outburst wasn't unexpected, nor was it out of character. "I know what they say! You've been jamming them down my throat since I got here! I'm sick of letting criminals get away because of _your_ rules!"

_True_

"Regardless, you agreed to follow the rules set by the PRT and the Protectorate in exchange for leniency. Ignoring how you broke protocol to call for reinforcements, you also went on an unapproved solo patrol, and have been found in possession of lethal armaments."

Shadow Stalker glared at him from the hospital bed she'd been confined to inside the Protectorate medical bay. The electrical precautions had been disarmed when the required twenty-four hours had passed, not that Armsmaster felt a single iota of concern for his well-being. Shadow Stalker wouldn't be combat capable for at least a week. Less if they could arrange for Panacea to pay her a visit. Meanwhile, this incident would lower the combat efficiency of his Wards. He really needed to secure a healer for his sector, but with New Wave nearby the directors felt it was unnecessary.

"I thought this was a clearance test, not an interrogation. When are you going to let me out of here?"

_False_

… She considered this an interrogation? Why? Possibly his personality or her lack of respect for authority. Something to look into later.

"Your placement in the Wards was on a probationary basis. The terms of your membership dictate that you would not engage in solitary patrols without approval and proper monitoring equipment. In addition, under no circumstances were you to be found in possession of lethal ammunition. Upon violating these terms, your agreement with Protectorate would be terminated and the punishment you were slated would be followed through. From the records-"

"Are you fucking kidding me!? You're going to send me to juvie because I defended myself? I could've died if I didn't have those bolts."

_True_

"Doesn't all the work I put in for you count for anything? I've followed your rules for months!"

_False_

When the Brockton Bay Wards looked good, it reflected well on him as a leader. Shadow Stalker was a loose cannon. Rude and often violent, she had joined the Wards out of coercion, rather than her free will. Unexpectedly, there hadn't been any major problems out on the field until today. Although his lie detector did pick up some uncertainties and lies that were concerning, she'd kept her nose clean to the rest of the world.

"You've violated your probation twice in one night. Normally, you'd be removed from the team and either punished with your original sentencing, or reassigned to a Simurgh quarantine zone for an indefinite period of time. Both would serve to teach you the consequences of your actions."

Recruiting a troubled vigilante like Shadow Stalker and turning her into a productive hero proved that he could be a versatile leader. It also demonstrated interpersonal skills he didn't really have. That said recruit could potentially hurt an Endbringer was also a tremendous boost to Brockton's reputation. She would get a second chance.

"However, in light of your service and clean record before this incident, Director Piggot and I believe you deserve a second chance. Should you violate the terms of your probation a third time, then there will be no leniency in our decisions. Do I make myself clear? "

"Yes sir." No gratitude, but he didn't expect any.

"Good, you're free to go. Be sure not to miss your daily check-ups until the doctor clears you."

He left without waiting for her response.

* * *

"_What's the problem Colin?"_ Armsmaster always believed he heard a distinct accent in her voice, part Canadian and something else he couldn't identify. Even he knew enough not tell a woman she sounded a tad mechanical, regardless of the fact that they were friends and both Tinkers.

He usually dialed her from his helmet's uplink; it was probably the transmission.

Colin cleared his throat, "Nothing urgent Dragon. While the holidays haven't been as peaceful as I'd like, there hasn't been anything we can't handle. "

"_You wouldn't call me for nothing. What's wrong?_"

Armsmaster stopped himself from saying he enjoyed her company; he was a professional. And he didn't want to alienate his colleague; especially not one of the only one's who could tolerate his personality.

"I have some concerns regarding Shadow Stalker; I'm uploading the data from my lie detector to you now. I… I was hoping you'd give me a second opinion. If you have the time of course."

He disliked asking for help. How was he supposed to show he could be one of the best heroes if he always needed help? Dragon was the authority on data analysis though, and she would be discrete.

"_No problem, I've gone through it already, and I think you're right. I could look into this for you if you wanted._"

Except her abilities put his to shame. She embarrassed most Tinkers if he was being honest. Friends were supposed to help each other out though… Bulldozing his hesitance he replied, "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I'd appreciate it."

"_You know I don't mind helping you out whenever you ask. By the way, your new software looks like it runs much more efficiently. Probably around ninety-eight percent correct, though truth is subjective._"

He smiled even though she couldn't see it, a compliment from one of the world's greatest Tinkers didn't come easily.

"Thank you. For the help. I really appreciate it."

"_Any time. Good-bye Colin."_

She hung up before he could say anything. In these moments, Colin felt frustrated at his lack of social skills. Armsmaster couldn't afford distractions though, and he headed to the gym for his daily workout.

* * *

The Merchants used to be a small time problem, even with their three parahumans. Making a mess in some small corners of the Docks had been the extent of their abilities, but it had only been a matter of time before they tried something bigger. Apparently the catalyst for that was gaining a fourth parahuman. Cape designation 'Trainwreck', they'd captured footage of him fighting Hookwolf in a mechanical suit. The Merchants with more muscle would've been annoying enough. Two Tinkers, although only one confirmed since Trainwreck hadn't been observed building anything, cooperating together was a potential disaster.

Particularly if they didn't care about retaining anything they made.

Armsmaster massaged his temples in a vain attempt to stave off the headache dealing with the junkies had become. He took a moment to look at his surveillance screens. As usual, he was the last one still working besides of the patrol shifts. Turning back to his screens, he briefly considered tinkering with his gear to relax, before focusing again. Putting in the extra hours is what it takes to be the best.

Drugs had always been an issue in Brockton Bay, first with smuggling, like any other shipping port, and then with the gangs. They saw trafficking as easy money, especially with the large groups of low to middle income families.

The Merchants recent expansion had spread the substances into a wider area than ever before. The ABB and the Empire both dealt in drugs, but it wasn't their specialty. Not like Merchants, whose membership, from the common thug to the capes, was made up almost entirely of users.

He pulled open diagrams of the different vehicles the Merchant Tinkers had cobbled together. Too many design flaws, he could see immediately how the machines could be streamlined to achieve the same effects. Adjusting the wiring to minimize power loss by at least twenty percent, or rearranging the tubing to increase the range of the sound vacuum by several feet. Armsmaster shook himself before he fell too deeply into a Tinker trance. The machines were especially offensive to him because of his personal specialization: miniaturization and efficiency.

Focusing on the capabilities, he considered Brockton Bay's latest problem.

The Stranger model, silent and invisible, used as both a getaway car and transportation for money and drugs. These alone had nearly doubled the number of car accidents in Brockton. Tinker ratings were based on a variety of factors, including specialization and effects. He himself could be rated in several other categories because of his creations. Similar to how Squealer received a Mover 3 classification for her previous creations, the PRT had given the machine a Stranger 3 rating.

The Blaster model, firing blasts of typically electricity, though fire had appeared a few times. The night Shadow Stalker had gone out alone, the local Protectorate had to run disaster relief only a few blocks away to help people evacuate two damaged buildings. While originally a lower rating, the Blaster model had either been improved, or never really pushed to its limits. To better prepare those pursuing the Merchants, they'd upgraded the machines to Blaster 4 after the last fiasco. Whether or not he agreed, protecting the PRT officers and heroes took priority.

And of course the Trump model that made all of it possible. Only Velocity had seen it in action before the Merchant capes had fended him off and ran. From the footage recorded in Velocity's costume camera, Armsmaster had determined that the model was of a much higher quality from a technological standpoint, and the design didn't completely matched Squealers typical mess.

He opened the video again and watched. As in Velocity's report, the machines dimensions outsized "two big SUVs side-by-side". Pipes and gears features just as prominently as Squealer's typical protruding attachments of unnecessary size. It sat on what looked like the bottom of a train, except treads circled the wheels. Unusually, there weren't any obvious weapons, another sign of a second designer; although video analysis revealed it most likely out armored any two tanks.

The video continued, and the machine produce what looked like cocaine, crystal meth, and heroin in succession through a few of its pipes. Then vehicle vanished, and the scene suddenly spun incomprehensibly as Velocity fled from the attacking Merchants.

The Trump model not only had the capabilities of the Stranger model, but more importantly it had the ability to produce whatever drugs the Merchants wanted. Thankfully, for the peace of Brocton Bay, the quantity produced each time appeared limited. They'd tentatively rated it with a Trump 1 since while the car only made drugs at the moment; they weren't sure what else could be produced. Armsmaster went cold at the idea of the Merchants creating weapons grade uranium in any quantity.

Still, an apparently never-ending producer of high-end drugs didn't bode well for anyone. The other gangs had already taken note, and there had been a sharp increase in cape battles involving pretty much every faction in the city. The Merchants had thrown his city into disarray.

He narrowed his eyes in thought. Other than the Trump model, all the other machines had limited lifespans. Provided their functions weren't engaged, they could work as normal cars.

Otherwise, they'd judged from surveillance and the units they seized that the Stranger model had about five hours of cloaking before burning out, and the Blasters had anywhere from four to five shots. However, the cars could be repaired by the Merchants' Tinkers if they were brought back before they collapsed or malfunctioned. Even broken, the Merchants would scavenge the shells for parts if the whole contraption hadn't gone up in flames. He estimated that about thirty percent of the Merchants' fleet had been repaired at least once.

Armsmaster opened more files onto the screen.

He hypothesized that the reason Merchants only had one Trump model was a combination of their resources and the manpower they could muster to protect it. At the moment, they couldn't afford to build a second since everyone was gunning for them. But if they weren't stopped and acquired more money and more members… Armsmaster inputted the numbers and created a rudimentary growth model for the hypothetical situation. He didn't like the future it depicted. The Brockton Bay Protectorate would have to step in before the Merchants gained more momentum.

The two weak points in the Merchant operation were the Trump model and the frailty of their cars. He'd have to neutralize the first, and find a way to take advantage with the second.

A roster of his team opened on the screen and he scratched his face. He'd have to shave soon or decide to go with a beard.

Assault, Battery, Velocity, Miss Militia, Triumph, and Dauntless.

Next came the profiles of the Wards.

Kid Win, Aegis, Gallant, Vista, Clockblocker, and Shadow Stalker.

A brief note and an extra profile popped up. The former about Shadow Stalker's medical condition, the girl had only narrowly avoided destroying her knee completely by using her power, and the latter detailing the appearance of an underage cape in the nearby area. He called himself Browbeat, short-ranged telekinesis and personal biokinesis.

Armsmaster skimmed Browbeat's information, before deciding to place Assault and Gallant on recruiting him in the near future. Assault's powers were somewhat similar to the potential Ward, and he was fairly approachable. Gallant followed the rules while being very amiable, could show off the potential Tinker technology that came with being a Ward, and his powers gave an in-depth perception to how the prospect felt. Sending his notes and recommendations to Director Piggot, Armsmaster returned to planning his operation.

The Protectorate base required a minimum of two Protectorate members on call if the rest were on patrol or mobilizing for an operation. One to operate the console, while the other acted as backup for emergencies. The Wards could be used to fill in, and they usually did for the surveillance console, but they tried to keep them from combat if possible.

Armsmaster considered the weapons and capes the Merchants had, and the damage potential from the Blaster model cars alone meant that the Wards without durability were immediately ruled out. One lucky shot and he'd be offering his condolences to a family. Of his roster, that only left Aegis. He decided to keep the junior heroes at the base or on patrol.

Next, he began selecting the heroes who would come with him. Purely based on numbers, he wanted to match the Merchants' capes four for four. However, that meant only two senior heroes in reserve, less if they needed backup. In light of Shadow Stalker's recent injury, Armsmaster hesitated to have fewer heroes monitoring the Wards for trouble.

As Dragon always said, they were just children.

He could bring Assault and Battery with a reasonable certainty that they would succeed. That it would leave everyone else, Velocity, Miss Militia, Triumph, and Dauntless, to oversee the kids and patrols was convenient. While he would have to share credit, shutting down the growing drug problem was exactly the kind of publicity the Protectorate needed.

Director Piggot wouldn't be sold on bringing a smaller force against superior numbers though. As much as the PRT officers trained to handle parahumans, they remained largely ineffectual without cape support. An extra parahuman along with an unknown number of Tinker weapons didn't qualify as 'safe' odds.

He began going over his justifications. As the resident senior Tinker, Armsmaster had the experience necessary to deal with two potential Tinkers, even on their home turf. Assault and Battery could bypass Skidmark's power fields with pure speed, while being strong enough to handle anything Mush or the Tinkers threw their way.

Battery specifically had a slight electromagnetic element to her power, so the electric blasts would be rendered ineffective against her. They'd tested as much when she first joined, and while she couldn't redirect the lighting back at the source, her power allowed her to ground the highest voltage they had through her body without harm.

Of course the results meant that the Protectorate base installed extra security measures, mostly more containment foam turrets. He followed suit by adding extra electromagnetic shielding to his equipment.

Armsmaster blinked, he'd nearly forgotten about the EMP shielding he'd put in place. That could be the answer to his problems. While most Tinkers learned to implement shielding on some level, the Merchants' Tinkers wouldn't be taking the necessary precautions if their machines were made to be semi-disposable. He could assuage the director's concerns if they could shut down the various models and put them at an advantage.

They still had one functioning Stranger model on the base that he could run tests on.

By the time he made it to his lab, Armsmaster had the schematics for gauntlets that would emit a localized electromagnetic pulse.

* * *

EMP technology was well within the grasp of humanity before the first parahumans appeared, and he'd finished and tested his first design in the twilight hours Friday night. However, although the testing department cleared his device on functionality, the director had conferred with the testers over the results, and ultimately rejected his prototype. Since then, calibrating the power output had been immensely challenging.

The main concerns had been rooted in the range of the devices, specifically how they might affect civilian buildings caught within. Armsmaster had originally calculated the output to short the Merchants' disposable cars at range, with the idea that the areas the Merchants operated in wouldn't have sensitive electronics. She had rejected the concept again even as he scaled it down.

While Director Piggot did give his operation a provisional green light, she refused to budge on scaling down the devices.

He held a grudging respect for Director Piggot's iron will; since knowing her, he'd never seen her back down from her position regardless of whom she faced. Armsmaster had designed and improved over half the technology in the building, without making it into true Tinker tech, and she still didn't allow him any leeway.

Instead of gauntlets, he'd worked with his specialization and downsized the EMP emitters into watches. At Battery's request, he'd included a function to tell time and the local weather. He'd denied Assault's request for his to tell a joke every hour.

In the latest model, the range had been reduced to barely an arm's length. It would require the heroes to get close to the cars to shut them down, but that the team he'd selected remained unchanged kept him satisfied. Configuring the technology to account for Velocity's power would take several more days, and none of the others had enough speed to make a difference. Dauntless might in a few months, but otherwise Battery and Assault were still faster in close quarters.

For the third time, he brought a prototype and associated test reports into Director Piggot's office. At this point, she'd gone over enough similar reports that she didn't need the scientists in charge of testing around. He'd requested the meeting even though it was Sunday. Starting the week off with a solid operation would send a great message to the public: their heroes worked diligently everyday to keep them safe.

Emily Piggot sat unsmiling behind her desk. Armsmaster knew she didn't appreciate having to come into work early on a Sunday morning, but he did offer a solution to the growing drug problem. She acknowledged him tersely, "Armsmaster," before gesturing for him to sit down.

He remained standing, and instead handed her the paperwork and began speaking.

"Director Piggot, I've finished the EMP devices and have the appropriate test results to show their new specifications. I also brought the surveillance reports taken over the last few days by the various patrols and PRT officers. We've located what we believe is their current location, and only require your approval to begin closing in."

Finishing, he waited as she stared at him shrewdly before flipping through the papers. After a few minutes, she shuffled the stack together and spoke.

"I'm glad you agree that the previous designs were too dangerous to the lives of normal civilians. I'm willing to overlook this instance as an eagerness to get the job done, Armsmaster, but try to be more considerate in the future."

Armsmaster took note of her comments, but didn't visibly react. For all her experience and expertise, the Director was not a nice person. She continued when he stayed silent.

"Regarding your other request, barring any unforeseen developments, I give my full approval for you to execute the operation within the outlines you've given me. You may begin at your discretion."

Despite the growing eagerness he felt inside, Colin didn't react as he replied, "Thank you m'am" and left her office.

He radioed Assault and Battery to meet him in his lab. Aside from surveillance, he'd also formulated several attack plans in the last few days. He wanted the operation to headline the Monday morning news tomorrow, so they would have to strike tonight.

* * *

_How did it all go so wrong?_

Armsmaster replayed the videos again. Outfitting his team with high-quality miniature cameras ostensibly for accountability, he'd actually wanted to chronicle the events for both his combat prediction software and the media.

_Two blocks out from the target, Assault took to the rooftops while Battery ran through the streets and he rode alongside with his bike. Assault took long leaps, seeming to defy gravity each time he pushed off something. Battery's stop and go bursts looked like alternating a movie between pause and fast-forward. _

He'd followed Squealer's example and added silencers to his favorite means of transportation, forgoing the usual intimidating roar. They didn't want to alert the villains any earlier than necessary.

_Arriving, they prepared to storm the warehouse: he would approach from above, Battery covering the back entrance, and Assault smashing his way through the front door._

It had been a trap.

Still, he took a moment to watch the boosting maneuver the pair had perfected over years of experience.

_Battery stood stock still next to her partner as the light meters on her costume filled up in a transition from yellow to green. Suddenly she lashed out, striking Assault in the side. He nearly vanished as he absorbed the kinetic energy from her super-strength, and compounded his own movement to crash through the front of the warehouse. Battery became a streaked blur as she zoomed toward the back entrance._

Armsmaster could and did appreciate the simple, effective, and efficient, power combination they'd done hundreds of worked like a well-oiled machine. He turned back to his camera as they breached the warehouse.

_The razor-edge of his halberd carved through the old metal roofing like a warm knife through butter. While he dropped down on his new circle platform into the middle of the building, Assault folded and knocked in the sliding warehouse doors with a crash. Battery tore through the back metal doors like tissue seconds later. _

_The original plan had been to activate the EMP emitters as they entered, blitz through the warehouse, and then incapacitate the Merchants' capes. The warehouse's lights had been on from the outside, but the inside had been full of nothing except broken cars and parts. They met in the center underneath where he'd made his entrance._

Squealer had a vehicle specialty, he should have known.

_Assault broke the silence first, "Not even a single junkie here to greet us... I feel insulted!"_

_Battery glared at Assault before turning to ask, "What's the plan now? Was there a secondary target?"_

_Before he could reply, his visor notified him of several activating power sources. The EMP emitters had shut down the ones they had passed within in range of, but without circling the floor several had been untouched._

"_Blasters! Scatter!"_

_Battery sent a flat palm thrust into Assault's chest, allowing him to zoom backwards toward the front of the warehouse. She followed Assault out, while he grappled upward. The EMPs had probably saved their lives as a cacophony of roaring flames and thunder strikes filled the air. They regrouped at the front as the smell of ozone and burning oil filled the air._

_Assault smiled as they stared at the conflagration, before he exclaimed, "That's more I like it! Fireworks!" He turned his grin to Battery and rubbed his chest, "Did you have to hit me so hard? I think that's going to bruise..."_

He paused the video screens and took a deep breath. No matter how many times he watched, seeing himself get tossed around still irritated him. Armsmaster clenched his fists. He'd been prepared: the EMP devices would shut down the disposable Tinker vehicles, he wore power armor that boosted all his physical abilities, and his personal gear could detect the power sources so they wouldn't be caught by surprise.

And he'd made the classic mistake of underestimating the villains. Especially Tinkers.

_Light shattered, as if revealing one of the Stranger models, except it was Trainwreck. His camera view whipped side to side, accompanied by the sound of metal on metal and concrete as Trainwreck's massive mechanical hand grabbed him and slammed him into the ground repeatedly. Mush slopped out of a cloaked eighteen-wheeler's semi-trailer. His malformed shell of gunk and garbage stretched fifteen feet tall. Assault moved to engage, testing Mush's durability with light taps that sent portions of him ballooning outward._

He switched over to watch Battery's camera, since his wasn't in focus.

_Battery activated her EMP emitter while sending a flying kick into the 'head' of Trainwreck's body. The machine shuddered for a moment and its lights blinked out, but while she took the opportunity to rescue him, the eyes flashed back on and steam whistled through the various exhaust pipes. Assault appeared and a kick crunched one of the knees holding Trainwreck up. As the machine fell, he addressed the other heroes with a wide smile and a wink._

"_Looked like you needed rescuing."_

_He shook off Battery's help and stood shakily, "What happened to Mush?"_

_Assault's smile turned into more of a nervous grin, "Well… you see I couldn't really do anything to him, since he kept absorbing the parts I knocked off… and I sort of shoved him back into that trailer."_

_As he finished speaking, Mush burst back out, this time several feet larger. The container had apparently been filled with loose debris for him to use his powers on. Meanwhile, Trainwreck sent a wide swing at Assault's back, only for his arm to crumple inward and bounce off._

_Assault resumed smiling, undaunted "So anyway, I thought we could switch-off! You've got to have something that can zap him, I can stop whatever Trainwreck throws my way, and Battery can keep standing around looking good!"_

_Receiving a super-speed smack to the head, Assault quickly changed his mind. "Ouch! I meant she can back up whoever needs it!"_

_He finished his spur of the moment repairs just in time for his visor to notify him that Squealer and Skidmark were fleeing by highlighting the Trump model's larger power source. He broke his composure by letting out a growl before shaking his head._

"_The others are getting away. New plan, Battery you stay with Assault. Together, you two should be able to hold off anything they throw at you and subdue them. Radio the PRT for the containment vans they've prepared after you secure the parahumans. I'll call you if I need assistance."_

_Battery kicked away Mush's center and magnetically pulled away a few metal items from him before retreating to recharge. Assault sent Trainwreck flying into a building with a car bumper he used as a bat, before turning to jab it several times into Mush's 'body'; debris burst out from the back of his shell._

_He paused to reply, "You got it Boss!" Before turning to Battery and offering her the improvised weapon. "Bring back any memories?"_

_She looked decidedly un-amused, before taking the proffered object and turning to knock Trainwreck back with a loud screech of metal. He had already mounted his bike when she called out behind him. "We'll follow as soon as we can. Stay safe."_

He'd barely heard Assault's quip then, and hearing it clearly now nearly made him crack a small smile despite his current circumstances. _"Should I be jealous here? I mean he's the leader and all but we have so much history together! … Hey stop ignoring me!"_

The door slid open and Armsmaster looked up from the carefully checked laptop they'd allowed him to bring into the cell. Miss Militia walked over to the control panel and entered the code to disarm the security features.

She began speaking, "I'm sorry about all of this Colin, but you know-"

But he interrupted her "I understand Miss Militia, you don't need to be concerned. I don't blame any of you for following the precautions that _I_ helped design."

Colin closed the laptop and started walking up the stairs. He stopped briefly and looked at the Merchants sitting in the other cells. All the villains had been brought to their current cells in the Protectorate Headquarters because of the EMP blast. The PRT cells had similar security measures, but they were taking precautions against other possible strikes.

Against him.

He closed off that line of thought. Of the four parahumans in the Merchants, only Trainwreck had escaped, leaving mid-fight moments before the pulse hit.

Armsmaster hadn't noticed, but he'd long left the trapped warehouse behind, and the pulse hadn't reached the ambush area. This meant the cameras on Assault and Battery had remained unaffected. The pair had kept Mush in place before the PRT arrived with containment foam, and then redirected their efforts toward search and rescue.

Skidmark and Squealer had been picked up escaping on foot by Velocity. Bags full of various drugs and money had weighed them down. While Squealer had dozed off in her cell, Skidmark hadn't stopped yelling obscenities since they caught him. Armsmaster had never been more relieved to have designed a soundproofing feature. He continued up the stairs.

Their capture hadn't been worth it.

Miss Militia turned and followed, keeping pace at his side. She pulled off her mask once they were clear of the villains. Her face showed no relief at his words, something that tinged her next words, "The director has already debriefed Battery and Assault, and has scheduled a meeting with you later today. We all told her it wasn't you, but it took Dragon examining both your devices and the data from the events tonight to clear you of suspicion."

He nodded his head, but didn't reply and turned in the direction of his lab instead. Miss Militia's next comment stopped him. "This wasn't your fault Colin, there won't be even a single mark on your record from this. The good guys won this one."

His reply was tired and he tried to affect as much sincerity he could into it by using her real name. "Thank you Hannah, I appreciate it."

She smiled sympathetically at him, "Just get some sleep, it's been a long night for all of us." Dawn peaked through the windows of the Protectorate Headquarters, and they both turned to stare at the rays of light brightening the city.

After a quiet moment, Armsmaster waved goodbye before resuming his trek to his lab. Once there, he connected the laptop to his console and activated enough screens to cover a wall. This time he followed the footage from only his camera.

_As he pursued the Merchants, his power armor informed him that the altercation with Trainwreck had strained the tendons in both hips, as well as fractured his right humerus, scapula, and clavicle. He rerouted power from his torso to compensate._

He would've lost any high-speed chase with only one arm to steer. Adrenaline had helped him ignore the pain then, much like the painkillers he was on now.

_Another notification from his visor highlighted one of Skidmark's power fields, one that accelerated the Trump model further ahead. Armsmaster attached his halberd his bike and accelerated. The oddly silent chase drove through the Docks._

At the time, his built in map of Brockton Bay had indicated they were headed out for the western border of the Docks.

That was unacceptable. Civilian density increased once they left the northern area.

Since the pursuit began, he had been careful not to lose sight of the machine since only his detection technology could keep track of the Tinker cloaked device. Remembering now how Trainwreck and Mush had ambushed them, Armsmaster had realized only the larger power source made the Trump model visible to his sensors.

_He pulled within range to take aim from behind. His first shot slowed in mid-air as the glow of Skidmark's power appeared on the ground. Another series of sharp turns, the Trump model maneuvered surprisingly well for its size, and he tried again from a closer distance. The EMP attachment latched on and dispersed a charge throughout Squealer's vehicle, shattering the cloaking effect. However, the machine didn't lose any speed._

Armsmaster heard himself curse quietly.

_He repeated the strategy twice before cycling through his other armaments. Concussive sound, steel cable nets, chemical smoke pellets, liquid-nitrogen darts… everything up to and including brute force had negligible effects. _

The halberd he'd used last night didn't have the heavy firepower installments because the Merchants didn't warrant that level of force. Between Assault and Battery, he didn't expect to have to stop the Trump model on his own. That being said, the Merchants had clearly upgraded the machine, since he'd utilized enough weaponry to take out anything they'd built before.

Only the EMP attachment had worked.

His next actions on screen caused him to frown and lean forward. If only he hadn't been so determined to catch them that very night.

_Stopping, he quickly unlatched the EMP emitter he'd made for himself, and linked it onto the electromagnetic pulse device on his halberd. He detached the chain linking the projectile to the rest of the weapon and took careful aim._

Neutralizing the cloaking had allowed him time for the impromptu modifications when he realized the EMP weapon needed more power to disable the machine.

_When it hit the Tinker contraption, an enormous electromagnetic pulse rocked through the area. Warnings flashed in his visor__as all the lights in the immediate area winked out. The blackout flowed down the street in a wave as the camera view panned quickly from side to side, scanning the streets and the rooftops. Another pulse permeated into his armor and fried the camera._

Armsmaster sat back and considered the data. If he hadn't added extra shielding to his equipment in case of a malfunction with his EMP emitters, then he wouldn't have captured anything beyond the first enormous pulse. Not that the few extra seconds before the second pulse had completely shut him down made a difference. He didn't understand how it was possible; his power armor had EMP shielding beyond all recorded EMP-related weaponry.

Instead, he'd been stuck inside of the equivalent of a metal statue until Dauntless had found him. That humiliation burned him almost as much as being imprisoned in the parahuman cells he'd designed.

Only the specialized three-dimensional computer memory chips had allowed the video footage to come away intact. While he typically preferred to avoid relying on technology from other Tinkers, another Protectorate cape had designed crystals that used light instead of electricity to function as computer chips. Although more fragile, they clearly paid off in circumstances like last night.

Colin looked back at the screen before switching to an overview of the city, waking up for the day. Rewinding several hours, Armsmaster opened the satellite imagery and watched three square blocks of the city black out. The wave-like effect spread further, with the surrounding two blocks on each side experiencing rolling blackouts.

Cascading transformer explosions caused by EMP detonation.

The lack of serious casualties resulted as much from the quick PRT and Protectorate response, as the fact that the Merchants hadn't made it to a heavier populated area. No deaths yet, but many injured.

Armsmaster didn't feel like a hero.

"_I'm sorry about what happened."_

He hadn't noticed himself answering the call until Dragon appeared on screen, her face frowning sadly.

"There wasn't anything you could do. I'm the one who fielded faulty equipment. I endangered innocents."

Her frown deepened, "_Colin… I looked over your specifications. Your power source couldn't possibly create a pulse large enough to cover that area of effect."_

She was right, the pulse required too much for the power source he'd included in the either device. Armsmaster crossed his arms and glared at the designs for various EMP devices, still spread around his lab from the previous days.

"Until I can examine the Tinker vehicle, we can't rule out my weapons as the source. At the moment, I can think of at least ten different ways the Tinker technology involved could've reacted negatively to create a magnified EMP blast. The data from my work only indicates I didn't intend to attack the city. This could still be my fault."

Dragon's face held a tinge of what looked like frustration before she returned to a soft frown.

"_You'll be accepting my help to clear you of any responsibility."_

Her declaration startled him. Taken aback, he hesitated before shaking himself out of his thoughts and replied, "I appreciate the offer, but I couldn't possibly impose on you like that. I already asked you to look into Shadow Stalker, and I know you're busy in your own right."

Dragon shifted through several facial expressions before settling on anger.

"_It wasn't an offer Colin, I will be helping you prove you had nothing to do with this."_

Colin couldn't keep the slight smile from his face, but he reminded himself of the situation at hand.

"Thank you Dragon."

Her face shifted imperceptibly before settling in a small smile as she replied, "_As always, any time._" After a brief moment, she abruptly returned to the look of frustration from earlier.

"_Speaking of Shadow Stalker, I think there are some things you should know._"

* * *

AN: If you liked this please let me know!

~Sleep


	11. Chapter 7: Success

Beta: IT'S NINJA LLAMA MADNESS

AN: The science in this work of fiction isn't the most accurate, but I'm trying to make it realistic without making this into a research paper. If you find things wrong with it, I apologize for offending your scientific sensibilities.

Peeps from spacebattles: I'm excited that you want me to join up and post on there, but I'm not sure how the formatting would transfer. As it is, if it doesn't work out well, I'm hesitant to have to reformat all of my chapters for another site. This is my main concern. I'll think about it; my beta and I do lurk there :D

~Work

* * *

I filled the next few days following my second night out with more preparation, and in doing so, found a near endless amount of things to do. With a list of parents and children created from a phone book and online directories, I convinced Dad that my tutoring and babysitting service had really taken off. He didn't really ask too many questions as long as I made sure to make it home for dinner every night; although his inattention stemmed as much from the struggle at work as his trust in me.

_I'll change things Dad._

I spent the quiet hours around sunrise and sunset flexing my growing powers.

My extra magnetic sense acted as a final warning system for people who might stumble upon my training, but most of the time I seclude myself on the second floor of the tanker I'd pulled open. Levitating into the ship, I descended inward until I reached the largest open space inside. Shielded from prying eyes, I worked to stretch my limits.

Strength exercises were the easiest to come up with, and typically consisted of picking up the largest pieces of metal scrap I could find. The one time I'd managed to levitate an empty shipping container had been pretty sweet, even if I couldn't keep that up for long. Attempting larger feats of power went hand in hand with getting caught though, and the echoing slam when I dropped the container warded me off from trying anything on that scale.

Multitasking came next. The number of objects I could control increased with practice, and my favorite exercise involved ball bearings. Aside from forming orbits around me, I made faux-atomic models in the air, complete with nuclei and spinning electrons. Thus far, I'd made it to Oxygen on the Periodic Table.

Improving my extrasensory perception didn't go as smoothly. As the only power I could constantly use, I'd notice that while I could I could 'see' objects that had or could hold magnetic charge; I didn't have a matching omniscience. Basically, I had limited focus. Standing at a crowded street corner, I knew people had metal in their pockets, but if I wasn't focusing on the object, I didn't know if they had coins or cell phones. It was only a peripheral awareness.

I'd developed something close to true multitasking with practice, so I could hold several objects in my mind's eye, but there could be hundreds, if not thousands, of metal objects with my radius at a given moment. I couldn't keep up with everything inside my range. To be honest, I didn't know if I ever wanted to.

The makeshift solution had been generalized magnetic force. Similar to how I moved clumps of ball bearings as opposed to individual ones, I could manipulate multiple pieces of metal with overarching vectors of force.

The only other issue had been electricity. I hadn't tried using my magnetism to mess around with it too much, even though the two were closely related. The small flashlight I did experiment with had only jolted my hand kind of painfully. I didn't have time to be shocking myself or accidentally frying someone; playing with a bigger live current wasn't exactly high on my to-do list. No, even though the electrical power had become clearer in my perception, ironically appearing as polar opposite sensations compared to magnetic force, actually utilizing electricity would have to wait.

The sense of achievement from earning my powers through hard work only grew, similar to how there didn't seem to be a noticeable limit yet. I got goose bumps every time I thought about it.

When I couldn't train my powers, I jogged and scouted through the various neighborhoods. Once I could get over watching a junior hero attempt murder, I remembered the small snippets of conversation I'd overheard while spying on the Merchant thugs. They'd talked about dropping off the broken Tinker car somewhere… and I went to look up every road in the Docks that ended with 'st Street'. Spending hours in the library, I pored over maps and lurked on Parahumans Online until closing time. Somewhere along the line I finished my holiday homework too.

I found every 'first' street during the day, a surprisingly large number, before meticulously visiting each one at night. Now routinely sneaking out from my bedroom window, I oiled the hinges so they'd swing silently. Dad slept through everything, but I wanted to be sure.

Meanwhile, concerns about my hesitation the other nights lurked, never far from the forefront of my thoughts. So I prepared, hoping I could make a move when the time came.

* * *

On my first two nights out, I learned that parahuman fights weren't the cape versus cape matches the forums drooled about; they were quick, brutal, and actually a bit rare. Instead, normal thugs preyed upon each other and victimized residents. I couldn't really determine if the Merchant's Tinker cars had escalated the violence or if Brockton Bay had always been this way, but for three nights, I saw the ugly side of the city in all its glory. Beatings, shootings, muggings… all sorts of very real violence. I'd seen Oni Lee murder without hesitation, but it was seeing regular humans showcase the same brutality that felt numbing.

I could've stepped in, stopped ABB from shooting at E88 who stole from the Merchants peddling in yet another territory. But it all seemed pointless. From the quiet sky, I could see the same thing happening a block away, and again further to my left.

Ignoring the cries and yells of gang violence was becoming easier, but I when I saw innocent people… I still couldn't watch real murder happen. I learned to recognize gang colors and appearances quickly. Maybe a Merchants' car shorted out, or guns suddenly had bent firing pins. Perhaps trash cans fell over to scare thugs away or dumpsters moved to let victims escape. Small things that I did to reassure myself that I was still a decent person, despite never stepping in with all of my abilities.

And yet each person I saved barely felt like a relief. If I debuted as a hero, I might have had a different experience, one with praise and recognition. In contrast, everything I did to help put me more at risk. I hated how selfish that seemed, but in the end, I wasn't quite willing to let them die…

Otherwise, my nights in costume had been relatively calm, if that's what you could call watching from above as the various gangs attacked one another. I was lucky that most of the other fliers in the city had decided on flashy costumes. Sticking to my strategy of high altitudes and rooftops, their bright colors helped me avoid them, and to some extent everyone else, as I stealthily stalked the Merchants around.

On the villain side, all the regular flying capes came from Empire Eighty-Eight: Purity, Rune, Fog, Crusader, and Stormtiger. Although they had the numbers, I only had aerial encounters with two of them. Purity might as well have been a moving spotlight; her power made her visible for miles on a clear night. On the other hand, Rune employed a strategy somewhat to mine; using objects to both achieve flight and as weapons. I couldn't miss large chunks of concrete she used to chauffeur around other Empire Eighty-Eight members. The more I thought about it, it felt absurd how many capes a _gang_ had in the city.

According to Parahumans Online, the only other potential fliers would've been either Uber and Leet or Lung. The former's technology didn't bother me too much, I had enough practice messing with the Merchants' cars to feel fairly confident against Tinker technology. Shifting a crucial part usually shut down most complicated tech. And if the Lung had transformed enough to have wings, I'd hopefully already be out of the city limits with my dad.

Of course, villains weren't my only concern.

For all my rising doubts about the crime in the city, the heroes rose to the challenge. Almost as if they'd found out that Shadow Stalker had tarnished their image, the city's heroes had come out swinging. They were the reason why I wasn't interfering nearly as much as I could have. It seemed like every time some innocent victim was about to be hurt, or worse, _someone_ would appear: New Wave, the Protectorate, and to a lesser extent the Wards. They didn't save everyone, but _wow_ did they try.

Luckily for me, looking good for the public had its downsides; namely in the stealth department.

New Wave had the most flight-capable capes, but I had to _try_ to miss anyone from that group flying around; I think gold and white were the team colors. Not to mention how many of them had laser powers. Zero close calls on that front.

Only Dauntless or Aegis and Kid Win could fly from the Protectorate and Wards respectively. If Dauntless' glowing armor and electric spear didn't give him away visibly, I would definitely feel them the moment they entered my still growing range. Aegis' colors looked like silver and rusty iron, conspicuous even in the moonlight, and Kid Win's Tinker technology was _shiny._ Like old school red and gold shiny. I'd seen all three of them with others on what I assumed to be patrols, though there had been far fewer Ward appearances lately. Probably because of the increased gang activity.

I tried not to think about what would be deemed unsafe for official heroes, even junior ones.

So I floated in the sky or hid on roofs, following the Merchants, and watching the city and its capes.

* * *

Parahumans could be violent.

Like seeing Hookwolf throw down with the new Merchant cape Trainwreck. With my power, I'd been able to sense how Trainwreck formed connections with the surrounding mundane vehicles, adding mass to his core mechanical suit; only to slam the taxi into Hookwolf's face. On the other hand, Hookwolf's power confused mine; he literally made something out of nothing. To my magnetic sense, the metal just appeared as it speared through Trainwreck's mechanical limbs. They fought like stubborn bulls, colliding into each other and getting back up, over and over again. The Nazi with his seemingly unkillable body made of sharpened metal, and the junkie who worked his way down the street absorbing cars.

The escape of the small Merchants convoy ended their intense bout, but the event demonstrated to me how capes could fight each other. My escape from Oni Lee and Shadow Stalker's one-sided murder attempt had nothing on what I saw here.

Parahumans could be cruel.

The difference between knowing something and seeing it had become too common a theme for me. Everyone knows Empire Eighty-Eight is racist; yet seeing Krieg in his overdone Nazi regalia holding a black man against the ground as he slowly lowered a car over him still shocked me. I almost missed them, but the sedan floating in the air had caught my attention. Inch by inch, closer and closer. The old World War II military uniform, marked by what I guessed were swastikas, didn't move as the victim started yelling. I couldn't hear Krieg's reply, but the yells turned hysterical. I hardly remembered which heroes arrived in the next few moments, but I could clearly recall watching him drop the car. It hung in the air impossibly before falling the short distance to the ground. I'd reached out with my powers in vain. It didn't kill the man, but the car crushed his legs. The scene had been out of my range.

But parahumans could also be good.

The heroes were obvious proof. New Wave protecting the surrounding buildings with shields as they took down a group of Tinker vehicles. Velocity zooming around ABB thugs to save the family they'd surrounded. Vista twisting space to make gangster walk in circles. The good deeds counterbalancing the bad.

And they could be kind.

Parian routinely advertised her services with a series of small events, and I visited the next one to take a break from everything; as well as to see a rogue in action. Walking around with the map I'd printed out, I finally found her. She was putting on a small puppet show in front of a stationery store, creating small dolls and animating them. Nothing over complicated, but a crowd of children sat cheering around the stand. I grinned at the over-the-top voices she spoke in as she caricatured various heroes. Her rendition of Alexandria scolding Legend and Eidolon for not eating their vegetables drew universal laughter. When she started giving away the puppets to the kids, I realized I'd been there for an hour.

Even if I didn't know the person behind the mask, I liked her. The world really couldn't have enough nice people.

Seeing all of these episodes, I realized that parahumans are _human_. Underneath the superpowers, they're all people, making good and bad decisions. It was both humbling and affirming at the same time. I took it all in as I watched.

* * *

Everyone seemed focused on the Merchants. Heroes and villains. Sure the Tinker cars could shoot lightning and turn invisible, but they almost always burnt out or broke down. Enough durability or a widespread attack and you would win. The Merchants got away the majority of the time, but they became easy pickings when they didn't.

I felt confident I could put up a decent resistance against most of the capes in the city, a far cry from struggling to move quarters. Not that I was looking for a fight.

After two days of sneaking around, I felt the beginnings of frustration. On one hand, the Merchants clearly weren't small time junkies any more, which meant any heist would net me much more money than I previously thought. From their activities, it looked like they had usurped control over most of the city's underground drug business. On the other, the constant attacks meant the Merchants shifted their routes to adapt, and I couldn't lock them down. I'd been ready to forgo finding a pattern altogether and just hit as many Tinker cars as I could in a night. But I found my lead on Brockhurst Street. It would be the first non-number street I looked on.

Located in one of the poorer areas of the Docks, Brockhurst had seen better days; half of the buildings were either abandoned or condemned. The dead shipping industry had made its storage center here. On my first visit, I didn't even make it onto the street in question. The area was a prime example of one the places people in Brockton grew up hearing about, in all the bad ways. I felt especially exposed outside of costume, and I couldn't jog through these streets without sticking out like a sore thumb. Instead, I returned at night.

Looking at the derelict buildings and partly demolished walls, I'd labeled the seemingly deserted area as a bust, before _three_ invisible machines rolled through the range of my powers. Keeping them at the edge of my range, I followed along over the rooftops, and waited until they pulled into an empty warehouse. Dropping down quietly, I crouched on the roof and examined the machines sightlessly.

Two were easy enough to classify as the usual invisible cars, but the third outsized them easily, and barely cleared the top of the warehouse doors. In fact, it outsized all the Tinker cars I'd seen in the past week. Like my usual problems with complicated technology, I couldn't even begin to understand what the machine did, or why it was so much bigger.

But I could tell there was a lot money inside it. Maybe more than what all the other cars I'd followed had combined.

This was what I'd been looking for.

More shifting, and I perceived blocks of weakly magnetic money moving from the smaller cars to the big one. Tiny bits of metal moved back and forth at about head level, probably piercings judging by the location of phones and belts. The Merchants moved without carrying money, and I assumed they switched to drugs. For all the activity below, an odd silence hung in the air. Even though I'd gotten use to the Tinker made sound vacuums, it still felt like someone would creep up on me.

I shivered and looked over both shoulders at the thought.

The thugs finished swapping goods, and the bigger car pulled out. I followed at a distance as it circled around several blocks, repeating the process at what looked like checkpoints and lookouts, before pulling into another bigger warehouse. I settled myself on the wide tin roof and felt around below.

Cars and parts covered the rest of the floor.

'_This must be their headquarters' _I thought as a slight giddiness bubbled up. I'd finally found my target. My powers barely skimmed the tops of the cars from the top of the warehouse, and I slide along the roof to count the number of fully assembled machines. I needed to know what I'd be up against. I found Trainwreck's suit standing still in one corner, and noticed that the money stayed inside the massive contraption on treads. I stopped counting at around thirty cars, enough that I didn't want to try a full on assault. Instead, I took note of the nearby landmarks and street signs, then followed the next weaponized car out of the garage to test something.

Several blocks away, the car finally pulled into an alley. I'd seen the routine dozens of times. Another Merchant car would rendezvous with them here, and the pair would run a circuit for the gang. If the second car had the invisible attachment, they would meet up with the street level drug dealers. A second weapon attachment would mean they were expecting to fight capes or another gang. It didn't matter either way.

When I shut down Merchant cars before, I'd chosen to work with the delicate nature of the mass-produced Tinker technology. This generally meant pulling some wire or part out of position. I didn't know if trying to manipulate the electricity in the complicated machines would cause them to go up in flames, so I abstained. I obviously didn't want to kill anyone, especially on accident.

Magnetokinesis had an immense number of applications in the weapons department though. Aside from the obvious using anything metal as high speed weapons, there was the very basic element of my power: electromagnetic pulses. While reading about EMPs in a weaponized sense, I had been excited; I could shut down any kind of electrical technology! As I skimmed the article on EMP waves and effects, I resisted the urge to unleash a stereotypical villain laugh. If I wanted, I could take on any Tinker and win.

'_They're all going to hate me.' _I thought with a smile.

Considering Armsmaster, the leader of the local Protectorate, was a Tinker, sense of empowerment had been justified.

Then I learned about EMP shielding. Talk about popping my balloon.

Shielding had limits though, especially since I thought I could bypass it directly. That's if a regular EMP didn't work. Even though the Merchants' cars were Tinker tech, they clearly weren't invincible, and I only needed way to shut them down in mass. The Merchants inside the car stepped out as a second car turned into the alley. I sent a moderately strong pulse through the empty car.

And it exploded.

* * *

The distant sound of sirens nearly prompted me to start retching again.

_That was exactly what I was afraid of._

Electricity and magnetism are a lot closer than I thought. I only had a few seconds to notice my pulse causing an electrical current build up inside the weapon of the Tinker machine, before the entire thing ignited.

'_I could have killed someone.'_

Flashes of the thugs, burned, bloody, and unconscious cause me to dry heave.

It's okay, they were Merchants. The news said they were the biggest overt problem in the city right now. I'd seen them do all sorts of horrible things these past few days. They're addicting people to drugs. Even kids.

I take deep breaths.

It was an _accident_. And none of the Merchants died.

Reassuring myself with empty platitudes, I venture back into the sky. I couldn't rule out the fact that it could be an effective weapon against Tinkers; if I could figure out how to shut things down without hurting anyone. I would need to be more careful with the consequences.

* * *

It all came down to power and control. I needed my EMP to overcome the electrical components completely. Small bursts could cause minor malfunctions, like causing one of the invisible cars to flicker briefly, but only a pulse near my upper limit could completely shut down the Tinker machines. Medium or moderate bursts would fry an invisible car, but they could also cause unintended effects like the explosion from my first attempt.

After spending the rest of that night practicing, I had the pulse down to a near art.

I woke up in bed almost around noon. Stretching out the kinks, my glasses placed themselves on my face and I got ready for the day. Dad usually let me sleep in on Sundays, it was a day to relax and for family time. But the house was empty. His note said he had left early for another emergency meeting at work. I crumpled it into a tight fist. The constant 'emergency' meetings and the growing bags under his eyes... the signs all pointed toward an ugly conclusion. If I needed any more reassurance, my dad's declining mental state was enough.

Tonight then. The past few days and nights of research, practice, following around invisible cars, and stakeouts would finally pay off. The cloudy sky might hamper visibility if it didn't clear up, but I wasn't worried about the weather at this point.

* * *

I made to return to the Merchants' headquarters, armed with my refined EMP attack and an in-and-out strike plan, but things I couldn't see caught my attention. I had approached from the west, but my magnetic perception stopped me in my tracks. Outside the warehouse, two invisible objects pinged in my sense. Dropping down a bit lower… This was the first time I'd sensed an invisible… semi-trailer? An oversized model of the Tinker cloaking device sat embedded on the top of an eighteen wheeler.

And was Trainwreck invisible?

It looked like a trap.

Retreating, I pulled back a few buildings until I could just see the warehouse entrance, I paused and thought furiously. _'Did they see me scouting them out? I hadn't been attacked on any of the previous nights…'_

I could've smacked myself. I didn't think the Merchants would care about the cars suddenly failing, but I forgot they sometimes brought pieces back for parts. Squealer must've noticed that someone was attacking her machines with EMPs.

_How many cars did I practice on last night?_

But that didn't change the fact that they had prepared a trap. How did they know I'd planned to attack tonight?

Armsmaster, Battery, and Assault entered the scene. Despite how small they looked at this distance, I felt a bit of excitement at seeing the heroes in action. There could even be a cape fight…

_Oh no._

My heart plummeted.

They were walking into a trap, one meant for me.

As I realized the trouble the heroes were in, Assault crushed the front doors of the warehouse inward, while Armsmaster carved a hole into the roof. Battery had disappeared in a blur of speed.

_Calm down Taylor. They're heroes. A trap by some junkies isn't going to hurt them._

I waited with bated breath.

Assault and Battery reappeared out of the front entrance. Armsmaster shot out of the roof seconds later.

Then the entire warehouse erupted.

A small part of me felt weirdly proud that the Merchants would prepare something to that extent just for me. The much larger part was relieved I didn't walk into it.

Despite knowing he was cloaked, Trainwreck's sudden appearance still startled me. I'd lost track of him when I'd retreated out of range. He grabbed Armsmaster and began swinging him around like a doll. The mound of trash that came out of the semi-trailer could only be Mush. I was glad I didn't have to deal with how awful that must smell. While Assault went to fight Mush, and Battery saved Armsmaster, I tore my eyes away from the cape fight and focused on looking for the other Merchants.

I'd guessed earlier that Squealer would probably be operating the big Tinker machine I'd sensed before, and with Skidmark along as the leader. But without being in range, I had no idea where they were. My frustration mounted. All work and scouting I did. Everything I'd gone through. And of course the heroes ruined my heist, even if they triggered the trap…

Turning back to the fight, I saw Armsmaster get back onto his bike and zoom off, leaving Battery and Assault beat back the villains.

_Where is he going?_

He wouldn't leave the other heroes behind for no reason, that wasn't the good guy MO. Plus, I didn't have any other leads. I rose up in the air on my metal shields to follow him. Staying close to the roofs, I made sure I could keep an eye on him while checking for any other heroes that might be around. After a few minutes, I saw the purple and blue colors that characterized Skidmark's power appear up ahead.

_Gotcha._

Armsmaster must have some kind of Tinker sensor to see them while they were invisible. I put more distance between me and the chase just in case he had something to see me too. He fired something the Merchants from his bike, but Skidmark placed another field that slowed it down. Armsmaster sped up to close the distance, letting me get closer to the Merchants as well. He landed a shot, and it made Squealers machine come into view.

Definitely just as ugly as what I sensed magnetically, and it sounded as horrible as it looked.

I couldn't tell what his projectiles were from this distance, but the way it broke the cloaking effect seemed familiar. Armsmaster tried again, before he started using everything else in his arsenal. It almost looked like a bad cartoon with the number of gadgets he fired off.

'_My first street chase as a cape'_, I smiled as my heart beat loudly in my chest. This was exhilarating. I'd never been happier that I went with a motorcycle helmet. They must've hit at least fifty miles an hour. I only kept up by taking shortcuts over the buildings.

I homed in closer to the Merchants as Armsmaster stopped to adjust something on his bike. This would be my chance. The Merchants reached another long street and began pulling away. I reached down from above and sent an EMP blast through their vehicle.

It didn't even slow them down.

The surprised caused me to pause, before I quickly accelerate to catch up. Cold air whipped at my costume as I went faster than ever before to get to the end of the street ahead of them. I'd learned from my trash can lid sleighs that I couldn't suddenly stop without the proper precautions, but I still underestimated the speed I reached. The magnetic cushion I used to decelerate nearly knocked me over. Nearly losing my balance on the metal stack below me, I parked myself and looked down below.

Armsmaster had resumed the chase now. The Merchants turned at the corner I floated above, making an impossibly sharp maneuver for something that big. Before I gave chase, Armsmaster passed my range next. From the brief seconds he spent within my power's radius, two things stood out: his armor and something giving off a distinct magnetic field. He must have a similar idea to shut down the Merchants.

In another situation, I might've felt delight at a hero using my strategy, but Armsmaster was on the verge of ruining everything. Following along, I evaluated my choices. I could up the strength of my EMP wave, but I would still have to contend with Armsmaster. Somehow, I didn't think he would let me walk away with the money inside the Merchants' machine. He was closing in on them. I needed to make decision.

I looked down at the streets. The clouds had hidden the moon tonight, so most of the background lighting was from the streetlights. If I could shut those down along with Armsmaster and the Merchants, I could still pull this off.

I pulled ahead and landed my wall shields in between two buildings. They would both be passing through my range in a moment. Reaching into the ground with my powers, I remembered the map of Brockton Bay's power grid that had come up during my search. I only had to short circuit the nearest area to shut off the lights. Pushing power into it, the streetlights only flickered.

The whistle of steam and groaning asphalt reached my ears. The Merchants.

_I don't have time for this!_

When the Tinkers entered my senses, I slammed the strongest magnetic waves I could create into everything in my range. The flare of magnetic forces radiated outward like a tsunami. The underground cables, the adjacent buildings, the cars, the Merchants, and Armsmaster. It felt like my brain was going to implode.

All the lights went out. Distantly, I heard fizzing static and small explosions.

Armsmaster was still moving, he had just dismounted. Right, the funded hero would have better shielding.

Ignoring the searing headache, I reached my power around him and then created another EMP from within his tech. It pulsed outward and he froze in place. I stumbled to lean against the wall. The street was nearly pitch black.

A metallic pounding resounded through my head for a moment, before I realized that it came from the front of the Merchants' car. It burst open as Skidmark and Squealer, each holding several bags, scrambled from the vehicle.

It took another moment for me to understand Skidmark's vitriol, "... inbred, pus-licking, grease monkey could've fucking wasted us! Look! I can't see a fucking thing!"

Squealer's replying simper was worse in its own way, "Well he's stuck in his own tech now sweetie, we won this one. Let's get away and I can show you how _happy_ that makes me."

I blocked my ears out before I could hear anything else. Reaching out with power, my stomach dropped: they'd taken the cash with them. Pushing up my helmet's visor, I quickly checked my face; the absence of a nosebleed surprised me. At least one thing was going my way. They would've gone away from Armsmaster though… I quickly followed them down the street.

Two parahumans, although Squealer shouldn't have any working tech, so that just left Skidmark. I'd have to knock them both out, but at least we were getting away from Armsmaster. The Merchant's turned the corner and I attacked. My head thrummed painfully as I judged where they were by the bags they carried, and then swung with my metal wall shield.

Squealer went down, but the sudden purple light illuminating the ground meant the fight wasn't over.

"Who the fu-"

Lucky for me, Skidmark was stupid. A second shield dropped down on top of him. Silence filled the air, and I stood there stunned.

I did it. _I freaking did it!_

I had everything I needed now. We could save my house; I could use this to make my life better; I could come clean to my dad… Bringing myself down to earth, I focused on finishing the job. I wasn't in the clear just yet.

My headache had gradually gotten more and more intense; I barely shifted the wall shields off the Merchants. Wedging them in between two of the buildings, I then carefully went over to retrieve the duffle bags the Merchants used to stash their drugs and money. I could feel my magnetic perception dimming, everything become less visible in the dark.

Manually working in the darkness, the rustle of money floating into cloth and closing zippers filled the air. I began sweating in the ongoing silence. I left all the drugs with the junkie parahumans, and took all the money I could carry.

Slinging most of the bags over my shoulders, I attached the rest to clips on my climbing harness. Trying to ward off the pain, I used the fact that the magnetic fields were easier to manipulate the closer they were to my body. My powers were too fried to outright levitate the weakly magnetic money, instead I'd shift it around just enough to let me walk. The bags still made me hobble a bit awkwardly, but I didn't mind too much. My headache thrummed disagreeably.

I turned my head toward where I'd hidden my wall shields, before shaking my head sadly. There was no way I my power could lift them at this point.

Prepared to return home, I realized I didn't have any sense of direction. I usually flew higher whenever I got lost. Gritting my teeth, I tried to boost myself onto a single-story ledge and nearly fell at the pain. Unhooking and putting down the money, I tried again with the same result. I definitely couldn't fly yet.

I couldn't believe I'd gotten stuck at the very end. Leaving the money behind wasn't an option; I would never get another chance like this. Besides, I didn't have anywhere to hide it. Picking everything up, I carefully walked away from the knocked out criminals, and Armsmaster frozen frozen on the next street. That reminded me, I was doing something very illegal.

_I'm probably going to get caught too. Wonderful._

Tripping on the uneven pavement, I made my way to the next street corner. I pulled out my flashlight… and it didn't work. Of course it didn't. I shook my head once, before the movement spiked pain through my head. Tossing it to the side of the road, I looked over my shoulder. The motorcycle helmet limited my view, and the dark street was starting to creep me out now. I didn't sense anything, but I really didn't like taking chances. Without free use of my power, I felt more vulnerable than ever.

My backpack unzipped itself and I tried to bring out some ball bearings for ammunition, only to get a small clump while the rest fell back inside. Better than nothing, but using my power was definitely out. Pocketing the handful in one of my harness pockets, I turned the corner, distancing myself further from the scene of my crime, before dumping the rest of the bearings into a storm drain. I watched them fall like a flood of tiny bugs.

Filling the empty backpack with the remaining bundles of cash in my hands, I stood slowly. I'd forgotten how _heavy_ a backpack full of bearings was. Picking a direction, I started walking.

* * *

By the time I could think clearly enough to remember that I'd been in the north end of the docks to start, I'd already trekked three blocks in darkness. Either I was getting closer to home by going west, or the opposite, and moving closer to the beach. I didn't recognize anything in the dark.

My power wrapped around the ball bearings when I started to hear people panicking and calling for help. The voices waxed and waned as I walked, but I didn't relax. My magnetic sense flickered to everything metal that entered my range. I absentmindedly noticed on how I still couldn't feel any electricity running through the buildings I passed; the entire area had lost power.

Sirens sounded in the distance, but I couldn't tell which direction. I came upon a small gathering of people surrounding a fire, but I couldn't approach them since I was still in costume. I was also definitely freaked out now.

_Did I do all of this?_

Without any way to find an answer, I could only keep moving.

After another block, I could almost taste my relief at the first signs of light. For a brief moment, I thought I knew where I was, then the lights flickered and died. Thrust back into the darkness, I felt another flare of confusion, fear, and guilt.

I didn't know how long I'd been walking, but it had to have been at least an hour. The migraine hadn't quite subsided, but I needed to know what was going on. I could deal with the consequences.

Shedding the bags, I placed them carefully behind more convenient dumpsters. There were lot of them around after a recent campaign to 'clean up the city'. With a painful twinge, I floated upward, unsteadily gaining altitude. Looking down once I could see lights again, I froze when I turned toward the area I'd come from.

It looked like a black hole had been dropped in the middle. As far as I could see, there weren't any electrical lights. The flickering flames of street fires had begun blooming here and there, but darkness had consumed almost everything else. My range didn't extend nearly this far… so what happened?

A siren sounding in the air broke me from my reverie. Dazedly, I looked around and realized I wasn't too far from my house, which had luckily escaped the blacked out area. I wobbled mid-air and pain spiked through my head again. Landing and grabbing all my bags, I briefly considered flying home before deciding it wasn't worth the risk at this point. I began walking the home stretch. Almost there.

* * *

Opening the window from the outside, I floated my collection of duffle bags one by one into my room. I wouldn't fit with them hanging off me. Following the last one, I landed gingerly amongst the pile. Looking around me, I cracked a smile. I'd finally done it.

The lights turned on, abruptly cutting off the laugh that had bubbled up. Like a deer in headlights I stared at my dad. The silence seemed to drag on forever, letting me self-consciously wonder how this must look to him. The middle of the night, my all black costume, black duffel bags all over my floor, _oh god_, why was he even aw-

"Living room. Now." If his body language didn't give it away, the way he bit out those words definitely showed how angry he was.

_It's okay, you planned for this. Well, Dad wasn't supposed to catch you, but you have a plan._

I went over to my desk, grabbed the locked box, and headed for the stairs. Dad's eyes simmered with barely restrained emotion.

Pulling off the motorcycle helmet, I sat down on the couch. Even though it had only been weeks, I felt nostalgic as I settled into the cushions and looked at the coffee table.

Dad came into the room a moment later, and I scooted over to make space. He stayed standing.

"Explain." 

* * *

AN: Cape name suggestions welcome, I've got a few ideas, but I'd like to hear what other people think. This chapter gave me a bit of a hard time so I've been sitting on it. I hope you enjoyed it.

~Sleep


End file.
